


Hoping for Some Permanence

by swordliliesandebony



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Canonical Character Death, Dad!Cor, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, On Hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 10:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11621322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordliliesandebony/pseuds/swordliliesandebony
Summary: Prompto is the junior artist at Lion Heart, his father's revered tattoo studio. Noctis needs to work through his past, but he'd be much happier painting over it.





	1. Everything is Alright

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and rating will be evolving as story progresses, so please keep an eye on that! Additional tags that may potentially be spoilery will be posted at the end of each chapter.

Noct's first thought on opening the parlor door is that, above anything else, this is a mistake. He's making an absolutely huge mistake here, with the bells giving a little tingle on the inside handle and his eyes taking a moment or two longer than expected to adjust from bright summer sun to a relatively dim interior. The walls are all plastered with framed sheets of designs, the windows likewise coated with posters for some upcoming event or another. He almost stumbles into one of the low-set couches, all arranged in a comfortable horseshoe, surrounding a table that's piled high with over-stuffed binders and the occasional magazine he's not sure he'd be comfortable flipping through in public.

His first inclination is to text Gladio, something along the lines of 'you could have warned me', though he sweeps that idea from his mind just as quickly as he can. It had been like pulling teeth to get a recommendation from Gladio in the first place, and if Noct's first response is to complain about the place being dark, or having a strange and vaguely hospital-like smell to it, he knows he's never going to live it down. Hell, he's pretty sure that regardless of the outcome here, there won't be any living it down in general. If he chickens out and changes his mind, he's definitely never going to hear the end of it. And, well, if he doesn't do any of that and shows up at the gym with the magnificent, colorful sleeve of his dreams... he's pretty sure Gladio will have something to say about that, too. Probably with one of those heavy, 'playful' socks to the arm and a little chuckle.

Noctis can't help but think that, if he really wants to flee, he still has a perfect opportunity here. The counter he's peering over sits in the back corner, beside a hallway that opens to a couple more little doors. There's definitely an ominous sort of buzzing echoing down from the furthest room, the sound of music droning along over it, and then a call of 'be right with you' that Noct immediately identifies as too damn cheerful for someone who is undoubtedly inflicting bodily pain at the moment. Yeah, he can definitely get out of here now and nobody would ever know. Instead, he's looking through the glass case that comprises one half of the counter, peering at tiered displays of jewelry. The pieces shine within the lit cabinet, perfect little bits of silver and gold with heavy jewels or intricate charms, in shapes that leave Noctis wondering exactly where half of them are meant to be worn. He's absolutely and undeniably out of his depth here.

This whole experience so far, and really it hasn't been all that long at all, is turning out to be a real test of his nerves. He realizes, some minutes after that drowned-out assurance that his presence has been noted, the buzzing has stopped and the music has gone down. By this point, he's taken to pacing the room, perusing the wall's colorful designs, feeling much more as though he's in a museum than a shop. He lets himself get lost in splashes of color, in designs that seem equally to represent trend, tradition, and little flairs of unique design. He barely notices when the two men who were clearly responsible for the buzzing- and being buzzed upon- make their way out. There's a bit of chatter behind the counter, some exchange of money, none of which Noctis pays much attention to. There's still a lingering thought in his mind, that he can offer a little apology and dart out the door and it will only be briefly uncomfortable, something he can bounce back from and happily forget within a week or two.

He doesn't bolt, though. He offers a shaky sort of smile to the man who brushes past him to leave. He tries not to stare too intently at the careful covering of tape and plastic and paper against his bicep. Noctis goes either unnoticed or utterly ignored, though he can't say he's terribly upset for that. He turns his attention right back to the framed display he was perusing, stays quiet until he's finally spoken to, by the man behind the counter.

"Hey, sorry about that," the voice is light and chipper, a bit more cheerful than Noctis may have expected, based all on the aesthetic of the shop itself. Probably an unfair assessment. Really, there are a whole list of judgments going through his mind, none of which are fair, none of which are terribly congruous when he's in here with the intention of getting a tattoo himself. Still, he's surprised by what he sees when he turns his attention to the guy behind the counter, "you thinkin' of getting something done?"

The worker is young, maybe even a little bit younger than Noctis. He's all messy blond hair and messy freckles that accent his face a little bit too perfectly, all dusted over his cheeks and his forehead. Whatever Noctis had in mind when it came to an artist, this guy doesn't quite fit the bill. He's slender and, hell, he's cute with those big blue eyes and round cheeks and a smile that's utterly infectious. His ears are well-adorned with neat little holes at the lobes, stretched just enough to loop barbells through, and rings that travel all the way up the curves. There's a neat little silver ring in one nostril, though otherwise he appears fairly unadorned. Maybe Noctis had in mind someone big and burly, covered in ink and jingling with metal. He definitely didn't expect someone quite so... well, cute is the prime word coming to mind.

"Thinking of it," he says with an agreeable nod. He's pretty sure there must be some hesitation in his voice, because the words earn him a muted little laugh, a smile that's somehow wider, somehow catches him even more squarely in the chest. Yeah, he definitely should have run. He definitely should be texting Gladio with a, 'what the hell, dude'- though that idea does pop into his mind, gives him almost a start, "I, uhm. Gladio sent me..." more hesitation in his voice, which is met with a momentary look of confusion from the stupid, cute little blond, then a widening of those eyes and an 'oh' sort of sound and that unbelievable grin again.

"Big guy? Seriously?" he laughs, and Noctis feels a horrible flutter in his stomach. There's a horrible feeling building up there in the pit of it, some creeping inclination that there was a very pointed reason Gladio didn't warn him about any of this; a very specific intent behind recommending this particular shop in the first place. The guy surveys Noct for a moment longer, then that look of realization crosses his face again and he laughs once more, "right! I think he said he was sending someone my way. No offense, but you're not really what I woulda expected."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Noctis shoots the words back, follows them with a laugh. He's pretty sure he knows exactly what that's supposed to mean. He doesn't, after all, look much like the kind of guy who would be keeping someone like Gladio any sort of company. He even feels a little rush of guilt over the retort, because the poor guy looks mortified for a moment, before Noct moves to laughter. His attention by this point has been properly broken from the sample pieces, so Noct makes his way back to the counter. Maybe he's a little bit eager to get a better look at the artist, though he definitely justifies it all in his mind as a simple desire not to raise his voice across the shop- small as it is- for an entire conversation.

"I dunno, have you seen him? I'm surprised that guy ever leaves the gym. I guess I just expected another big, scary beef-man. This is, like, a pleasant surprise," he laughs again and Noctis, god damn it, can't help but smile right in return. On closer inspection, the guy is a bit more than cute. Words along the lines of 'fucking gorgeous' cross his mind, make his heart trip over itself. This is bad. This, Noctis realizes with a little start, is probably exactly what Gladio intended in sending him here, "Oh. I'm Prompto, by the way," he extends a hand across the counter. Noct wants to hesitate, he wants to back off already, but he goes to grasp it instead. An awkward moment follows, something that's just a little bit sparks but mostly Noctis forgetting how the hell to introduce himself and Prompto apparently forgetting the 'shake' part of a handshake.

"Noctis. Everyone calls me Noct," he gives a half-hearted pump at Prompto's hand and, both of them a little bit pink in the cheeks, eyes apparently opposing magnets, look as staunchly away from each other as they can without actually physically turning in opposite directions. He takes a moment to draw in a deep breath, to remind himself what he's actually here for, and that what he's actually here for is not to stumble over his words because some guy happens to be cute.

"Alright then, Noct. What were you wantin' to get done?" If Prompto was thrown by the brief awkwardness of their introduction, he doesn't let it throw him. And, damn it all again, it's just another little thing that Noct is finding horribly endearing. This is trouble. Gladio must have known that this would be trouble. That this was going to be a nightmare and a half for him. Noctis suddenly feels it crashing over him, the realization that there's so little chance this wasn't Gladio's idea of playing matchmaker. He's spent more and more of their time together lately trying to urge Noct back to his feet, to get himself back out there, brush of the dirt and actually live a little, all of that bullshit. It usually makes Noct bristle. It makes Noct want to bristle now, but that smile and those eyes and that dusting of freckles, they all make it so damn hard.

"A tattoo," Prompto doesn't need to laugh at that statement for Noctis to realize that, of course, that much was a given. He even groans at himself, shakes his head, but he doesn't immediately elaborate. That's at least part of the problem here, probably a good deal of the reason that Gladio was so damn hesitant to give him a shop suggestion. Noctis knows he wants something. He's been absolutely in awe of Gladio's work for a long time, really. When it comes to an actual design, though, he's at a loss. When Gladio finally conceded, offered him up the address, the name of the shop, he suggested he spend some time leafing through portfolios and looking at the walls. 'It doesn't have to be custom' he explained, 'but it better be something you really like'. Thanks, Gladio. Wise words. Nothing Noct could have worked out on his own.

"I guess that's a starting point. Kinda," Prompto isn't entirely inclined to spare Noct's feelings it seems, though his tone remains bright and bordering on outright bubbly. He's giving him a thoughtful look, something that stretches into silence, makes Noct shift a little from foot to foot. He's about to say 'never mind' and finally book it, just promise he'll come back when he's thought about it a bit more, when those little bells jingle on the door again. Prompto's eyes shoot immediately away from Noct and he himself turns his head over his shoulder to observe the newcomer.

"Oh! Hey, pops!" Prompto goes for a warm greeting, one that absolutely startles Noctis, really. Looking over the guy who walked in, he can't really work out the relation between the two. They don't particularly resemble each other. This man is stockier, harsher in the face, not unpleasant to look at but intimidating as all hell. And, somehow, Noctis feels when in the possible presence of the stupidly gorgeous guy's father, that he's doing something terribly untoward. It's all in his head, and he's even aware of that fact on some level, but he's shifting a bit more notably now and a wash of anxiety is running cold over his body, turning him in on himself in ways that are barely perceptible.

"Everything go alright on the one-thirty?" the man slides behind the counter beside Prompto, reaches to click through on the computer there. His expression never changes from that slightly hardened stare, focused now on a screen beyond Noct's range of vision. He's gone quiet, doing little more than listening, than observing. He tries to remind himself what he's actually in the shop for in the first place, to steady his breathing and clear his mind in what should probably be a blessing of a delay.

"Just a touch-up, no big deal. Tipped me well enough," Prompto is beaming here, absolutely exuding a pride that isn't conveyed by his words. The older man's gaze breaks with the screen and, to Noct's absolute surprise, he offers a brief hint of a smile and claps a hand on Prompto's shoulder. There's a momentary emotion rising in Noct's chest, burning up to his throat. Jealousy, maybe? A little bit of wistful regret? Something along those lines, in any case. Maybe a bit of nostalgia for a relationship he never shared with his own father, despite his best attempts.

"Good work. He's not the easiest client, you must have done well," the man's gaze finally lands on Noct after the reassurance, ponders him for a moment, "friend of yours?" he extends a hand to Noctis as well, and this time Noct manages to remember what he's meant to do with it, even if his whole body is buzzing with a strange sort of nerve. He's decided by now that he doesn't belong here, that this was all a mistake. After all, this man who clearly knows exactly what he's talking about has immediately pegged Noctis as a friend rather than a client.

"Hope so. This is Noct. Gladio sent him over, but he's totally in over his head. Now that you're here, we're gonna head to lunch," Prompto's confidence is almost alarming to Noctis, but he flashes that grin again and he knows there won't be any denying it. He's maybe even more lost than when he walked in at this point, but he doesn't exactly intend to deny Prompto's plan. There's a strange little jolt of happiness that comes with that reply, that 'hopefully', and Noctis accepts right away that, well, he's hoping that, too.

"Noct, huh?" The man gives him a long look, this one a bit more searching, something that makes Noctis want to squirm even more than he already has been. There's a certain look in his eyes, a certain narrowing of them that feels a whole lot like there's something behind them. Something close to...what? Recognition? Impossible, he tells himself. He would absolutely remember knowing this man, all harsh lines and wiry muscles and unexpected fondness behind it all. Still, there's something in the stare that catches him, knocks him on his ass so-to-speak. Something Noctis will have to work out, he decides, if this whole 'hopefully friends' things comes to fruition.

"Yessir," Noct is surprised by his own response, by the almost instinctive respect the guy seems to command. Maybe there are little bits of his father's influence still lingering, even after all this time. Maybe there's something catching in the back of his mind, distant and impossible, just beyond his grasping. He doesn't know how to reach for it, how to identify it, and he doesn't know quite how to cast it aside either, as anything more than over-thinking a critical look.

"And you're Gladio's friend," he reiterates that point and his tone seems careful. Noctis nods eagerly to it though, and he feels a sort of pleasure, relief maybe, to be able to offer some affirmative response there, "good people, the Amicitias. I knew Clarus well. Real shame."

Those words, that particular point, really does just about knock Noctis straight on his ass. There's a sudden twisting in his gut and he's sure it plays across his face. Is that where the familiarity came from? Was he at the funeral? Does he blame Noctis for what happened there? Does he blame his father? A million questions run through his mind, all at once and all without answer. He opens his mouth, but Prompto must have noticed the sudden tension because he steps to the other side of the counter, slings an arm around Noct's shoulder, levels a look at the man that Noctis has decided at this point he really doesn't want to be around another moment.

"Okay, dad. Enough of the awkward. We'll be back later," his voice is still cheerful, but there's something in there that is almost pleading, as if he's absolutely begging his father not to say anything else, not to dig more at whatever hole he's worked into Noct, "maybe try not to scare anyone off while I'm gone?" the words seem enough to soften the man's face, draw out a curt nod. His eyes are still on Noctis, even when Prompto drags shifts to grasp his arm instead, all but drag him from the shop. Noct is absolutely positive he can still feel the gaze on the back of his neck when the door sounds their exit and they step into a day bright enough to positively blind.

Prompto's hand is still around Noct's forearm, spreading a few strides of distance between them and the shop before he releases. There's a strange inclination on Noct's end to reach for Prompto again, but he brushes it off, glances over instead. He thinks he should probably thank him for the quick escape, but he's not really given the chance before Prompto is groaning and shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, that was totally weird. My dad's alright, but he's, like, the king of making things super awkward. Figured you could use some rescuing there," even through the tone, Noctis can tell that Prompto really is apologetic more than teasing. Noct, well, he can appreciate that. He's been known to err on the side of humor when things get a bit too deep himself, though maybe without the need to apologize for any of his father's behavior. Things tended to go the opposite way in that realm for him, "you don't actually hafta come with me," he adds, and Noctis feels just a little pang of sadness at the words, just a small emotion and just for a moment, "I mean, I'd like it if you did. But I was just trying to save ya there. If you let him dive into the war stories, he'll be at it all night."

Noctis nods. He doesn't respond at all at first. War stories. Gladio's dad. He still feels a hell of a lot like he's had the wind knocked out of him, something he definitely doesn't want to point out to Prompto. And there's the other bit that he isn't keen to share, where he's working through his memories, trying to pick out a name to put to that face, because there's no denying at this point that his own father must have known the guy.

"Lunch sounds good. We're becoming friends here, right? Can't abandon you now," he manages to laugh with the words and it seems to brighten Prompto a bit further. An arm slings around Noct's shoulder again. His instinct, in any other situation he thinks, would be to shrug it off. Here, though, he almost leans into it. Here, he mimics the gesture, gives a little nudge of the fist to the back of Prompto's opposite arm, "telling your dad I'm in over my head as an introduction isn't the best way to start, though. You do realize that, right?" Prompto stiffens briefly and he laughs, gives Noct a little shove away. It's all easy, a bit too natural maybe, but they're already feeling a hell of a lot like friends.

"You came into his parlor only knowing you want 'a tattoo'. I'm just callin' it like I see it," calling it right at that, Noctis thinks, though he's beginning to believe it goes a little bit deeper than ink and skin. He doesn't bother to say that, doesn't bother to say anything at all, though he works up a mock-wounded groan. There's something here, something easy and natural and almost magnetic and he takes the little jab in stride in a way he's sure he wouldn't be able to with anyone else. Not that he has a whole lot of 'anyone elses' to joke around with. Another point that doesn't need to come into play just yet.

"Guess you've got me there," he eventually groans. They're walking, toward the end of the block, and Noctis thinks that maybe it's not entirely an aimless stroll. Lunch does sound appealing, and Prompto's leading the way as though he has a destination in mind. A good thing, too, because Noct doesn't know the neighborhood. It's not terribly far from home, and it's not a bad place, he decides. All artsy little storefronts, studios and cafes and oddly specific specialty stores. He thinks about asking how a place that only sells lampshades stays in business, but instead he simply drinks it all in, tries to note landmarks for later.

They're walking in silence again for another block or two. Prompto must notice how out-of-his-element Noctis is, because he's not saying too much and he's certainly not speeding up their travels when Noct slows down to glance into a window or check the title of one store or another. It's a comfortable silence, maybe unexpectedly so. Noct is pretty sure there's no neighborhood quite like this that he's spent any amount of time in and he feels a little bit guilty that he's never made it over here before. It really is only a stone's throw from home and just about every place looks appealing.

"I'm guessing you're not from around here," Prompto observes finally. Noctis laughs just a little bit at the easy call. The sad part, of course, is that he very much is from around here, in a large sense. He can see the rise of his apartment complex not too far in the distance. Easily walkable from where they stand. Hell, he walked here in the first place, though mostly with his eyes glued to the phone's GPS and his palms sweating while he tried to work out whether or not this was all a monumental mistake. He's decided, at least, that it wasn't a complete mistake. Prompto seems nice, friendly, definitely too damn cute for his own good, but someone that Noctis wants to know. Someone he's unexpectedly glad to have met.

"I live closer to the Citadel. Kinda shocked I never made it over here before," Prompto seems shocked by this admission too, though he has the good grace only to smile and shrug. There's a certain difference, Noctis is too damn aware, between people who spend a lot of time near the Citadel and people who spend a lot of time literally anywhere else. It's a sort of uncomfortable thing, all to do with money and class and the sort of shit that Noctis doesn't care too much about. The sort of shit that he's been made aware he only doesn't care too much about because he has enough standing in both areas not to need to. That's all the sort of conversation he's trying very hard not to have here though, so he smiles a shy little number and tilts his head toward Prompto, "guess you're gonna hafta lead the way. I'm already totally lost," not entirely true, but the thought seems to make Prompto brighten again.

"Tour guide Prompto is on the job," he absolutely grins that heart-melting and toothy expression that grabs Noct's attention far more than it has any right to. There are a lot of thoughts going through his mind right now, and they're all making him pretty damn uncomfortable. All making him question exactly what the hell Gladio had in mind when he referred him to that shop. Noctis doesn't get a chance to dwell too much on it though, because Prompto's chattering away easily now and he finds that he doesn't want to miss a beat of it, "this neighborhood is pretty cool. All artsy and stuff. Totally a million places to check out. I like it a lot. You know Maagho?" he's rattling off a bit and it takes a moment for Noctis to catch up, blink through a bit of memory that strikes him again, harsh and right in the center of his chest.

"Kinda. Haven't been there since I was a kid," he replies. He does have some memories of the place, mostly at meetings that a child has no place at, trying to remember which fork to pick up for which bit of food he didn't have any interest in putting in his mouth. There was a lot of being quiet, back-straight, eyes forward. He doesn't have terribly fond memories of it, now that he considers it, not beyond the fact that they were rare times he was able to spend with his father. That, in its own way, makes them good memories and precious ones, though he doesn't get into any of that. He's gone quiet again, in fact, and he knows that Prompto must be noticing it.

"Oh. Damn, well..." he hesitates just a moment, something that makes Noctis wish he had picked some better words. Impossibly though, Prompto brightens again, seems so perfectly able to shrug it all off, "bet it sucked as a kid. Everything's super cool and fancy, but when you're little I bet it's all just really boring and gross," he laughs and Noctis laughs as well. He's pretty much hit it on the head there, Noctis thinks, and he almost says it, though Prompto goes on before he has much of a chance to, "anyway, it's totally a perfect fancy date spot now. All the expensive wine and tasty pasta. Totally romantic."

"So that's where you're taking me?" Noctis feels his cheeks go bright with the words and he forces out a little laugh. It wasn't exactly the smoothest of moves he could have made and he runs through everything that has been said between the two of them up to this point, rolling through any signs he may or may not have seen. May or may not have missed. Prompto is quiet again, which Noct decides isn't a great sign. His heart is thumping uncomfortably and his palms have gone all sweaty again. He opens his mouth to try and sneak in a little 'just kidding', but again he's not given the opportunity.

"For a first date? No way, dude. I don't know how much money you think tattoo artists make," he laughs heartily and he glances at Noct. Noct is pretty sure Prompto's cheeks, all round and freckles and perfect in their way, have lit up a bit too. Maybe it was a step too far, but it doesn't seem like Prompto's taken offense. He's not entirely shot the idea down, right? "That's, like, third date at least. That's, 'I'm getting you drunk on wine that cost my whole day's pay and taking you back home' date. And I'll have you know, I'm not that easy," another laugh and he knocks a shoulder against Noctis's, offers up that same unbelievable smile.

"Okay, okay, I get it. I'm not getting anywhere tonight. So where are we going then?" Noctis decides the best route at this point, after the little missteps and with his whole body going all tense and uncertain and close to trembling, is to play along. Prompto is taking it all in stride, after all, and that has to be a good sign. Noctis has to believe it's a good sign. He doesn't have a goddamn clue, if he's being honest. He tries to think back to the last time he's actually flirted with someone, to the last time he's actually even wanted to, but all he sees is a blank. His head hurts a little bit with the effort and he casts the whole thought aside. He's definitely not doing himself any favors, but he's not quite scared Prompto off, so he's taking it as a net win.

"There's a decent little sandwich place. Just another block. They're huge and messy and totally delicious. You'll love it. I say this as someone who has known you for a grand total of like fifteen minutes and clearly has a good idea of what you will or will not love," he's getting chattier now, laughing a little bit too much, smiling a little bit too wide. Is he nervous? Noctis offers a smile and another little chuckle. He can't quite work it out. He can't quite figure any of this out, really. Prompto is too straightforward for Noct to really comprehend, a whole load of an oxymoron right there. But he's staying at his side and he's giving all those laughs and smiles and speaking a bit more than he probably should and if he's nervous, well, so is Noct. Maybe it's all turning out the best it probably can.

"Huge, messy, and delicious is my middle name," Noctis agrees, and then he groans almost immediately afterward when Prompto breaks into absolutely genuine laughter. Noct likes to think he usually has a decent filter, but he's pretty sure he couldn't have gone for a more overt, borderline tasteless bit of flirtation had he tried. And he definitely hadn't tried. He's pretty sure he's in the deep red when it comes to coolness points right now. Luckily, Prompto's laughter is infectious and he's giggling at himself all the same.

"Look, I know I'm pretty irresistible, but you can save the real charm for hour two of us knowing each other," another joke and another jab at Noct's arm. It's enough to calm the air between them, Noct thinks. At very least, it's enough to make him feel a little bit less like a hopeless, bumbling idiot, and that's a start. He shakes his head, he groans, and he keeps following Prompto as he leads the way up toward the end of the block, toward the promised little hole-in-the-wall.

Noct doesn't know immediately what to make of the place. It smells absolutely amazing when they head in the door, even if the decor doesn't quite reflect that. It's definitely not the sort of place that he might have imagined taking a date, but he's still not entirely certain whether this qualifies as a date or they were simply joking around to begin with. It's all overwhelming, if he's honest. They're lucky enough to have missed the lunch rush, which is almost a shame, because the big board up behind the counter has Noct's mind swimming. And maybe there's a little bit of frowning as he counts through just how many of the options are chock full of things that sound very much like vegetables.

"A lot to take in, right?" Noct is almost startled by Prompto speaking, but he nods and he gives the most hopeless expression he can muster up. It's enough to make Prompto laugh and shake his head, give Noctis another nudge, "alright, alright. I'll pick for you. Just trust me, alright? I mean, we're approaching the half-hour mark in our relationship here, I think I've got this under control," and he winks. He fucking winks. If Noctis wasn't in trouble before, he absoltuely is now, because his heart does those strange little flips in his chest and his stomach goes into a bit of a freefall and he's pretty sure that he's staring at Prompto at this point, forgetting immediately to respond at all.

"That's a lot of trust to put in one person, you know. Really going out on a limb here. If I see anything vegetable-adjacent, just know that this date is officially over."

"So it is a date! Score! Alright, alright, go sit down, I'll handle this," Noctis nearly choked on his words there, but Prompto is...hell, he's excited. And it's infectious, the same way that smile was, the same way his whole damn personality seems to be. So Noctis smiles and he nods and he finds a table for two that appears to be at least relatively clean, after he's spent a minute or two going over it with the stack of napkins he grabs.

Noctis feels like sitting here for a moment, in the relative silence of the little sandwich shop, is enough time to take a deep breath, to try to actually assess the situation. He takes a moment to fire a quick text off to Gladio, demanding to know whether this was all a setup. He makes sure to sound as serious as possible, to give off the impression of being properly offended by the idea. In reality, he's sneaking glances at Prompto even now, watching him chatter away with the absolutely exhausted-looking teen behind the counter. There's a quick move of ducking his head and making the table appear incredibly interesting when he notices Prompto glancing over his shoulder. He's pretty sure he's been caught, and that idea, impossibly, makes him smile.

He's in trouble here, that thought keeps running back into his mind. Prompto is... he's too nice. He's sweet and he's adorable, a bundle of carefree energy and boundless enthusiasm. He's the exact opposite of Noctis. There's no way in hell this is going to work out, Noctis is certain of that part. And that's without even delving into the state Noctis has found his life in. The right thing to do, he realizes with an absolutely painful jolt, is to call this all off. He should thank Prompto for the lunch but tell him that, really, this is all a terrible idea nd he's very sorry, but he needs to go. Then... then what? He can lock himself in his room for another week or two, he can ignore whatever response Gladio eventually texts him. He can pretend that he's definitely fine, that he's not going on two years past a dead father and a broken engagement and hasn't come to terms with either. That's definitely what he should do. This is all Gladio's fault, anyway. He knew damn well, Noctis made it so damn clear that he wasn't in a place to deal with anything like this.

That's not what he does, though. Yet again, he doesn't bolt for the door as he's so inclined to. An image crosses his mind of Prompto looking all crestfallen, feeling the sting of rejection, and he realizes that there's no way in hell he can do that. Instead, he sits patiently and when Prompto finally returns to the table with a tray stacked in sandwiches and fries and shakes, he offers up the best smile he can muster.

"No veggies, as ordered. Guess that means you can't dump me yet, huh?" Prompto's smile is just as bright and it's enough that Noctis can't dwell too much on his uncertainty, on his internal turn toward anguish. He can't do a whole lot other than mirror the expression and go to unwrap his food, inspect and appraise Prompto's choices for him. He's gone with some sort of meat-filled sub, something that lies strangely between burger and hero and has plenty of cheese and a questionable sort of sauce that Noct feels the need to test on a fingertip before he opts to actually take a bite of the sandwich. He considers the tangy flavor, blinks, then nods, that same stupid smile on his lips.

"Guess not. I'm expecting this to be one hell of a date, though. I don't really do dates. Gonna have to really wow me," that much is the honest-to-god truth. And that much, Noctis can tell, Prompto is taking as a challenge.

"Lucky for you, I'm just about the best date ever. Just ask all my exes," he actually waits for Noct's groan at the utterly horrible joke before he presses on, "alright. You'd better brace yourself, 'cause I'm brignin' my A-game. You're gonna be, like, head-over-heels by the time we're done."

"You wanna make a wager there?" Noctis laughs again, he really can't help himself. The doubt is still present, still thick and heavy and plaguing him as much as it ever has, but Prompto is a strange sort of irresistible.

"Of course. If I win, I get another date. Pretty sure that's how this works."

"Sounds pretty standard," Noctis agrees, that smile still there, "and if you lose?"

"Then I guess you get to take me on the next date instead."

Noctis can hardly believe himself, but he extends a hand to shake on the deal.

 


	2. What Comes Next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been struggling a little bit with how to appropriately tag this story. There are certain themes and issues that will come up that can potentially be triggering, but the pre-tagging of which feels a bit detrimental. From this point on, I'll be adding some tags as notes at the end of chapters. If you're concerned about any potential triggering, please skip to the end to check out these additional tags. This chapter is incredibly light on questionable content, but that will be changing rapidly as the story progresses. I would consider, at least in future chapters, some of these tags to be potentially major spoilers, which is why I'm opting to go this route rather than simply using the Ao3 tagging system. I hope this is a solution that makes sense!

It's all a bit of luck, really.

Prompto thinks a good deal of his life is all a bit of luck, when it comes down to it. There are key and pivotal points where things could have gone wrong, where he could have wound up on a path that is anything but the pleasant, relatively simple one he's on now. He lives a life of near-misses, maybe a bit too often, but he has a way of coming out on top and he decides, while he's waiting for the food he's ordered himself and his unexpected date, that he's definitely coming out on top here.

He doesn't think too hard on any of the details, because he's a little bit worried by them if he's being honest. His dad grilled right into Noctis the moment he got a good look at him, left Prompto to do a fair turn of rescuing there. Then the luck came in, and they wound up here, which is all well and good but he's still got some questions. He's still got a lot of questions, really, and he's working through most of them internally right now, guessing at which he can ask right away, which he might have to tiptoe around a bit more. He ignores them all for those first few moments, when he balances a tray back to the seat Noctis has picked out and offers up the meal. He focuses on sunshine and brightness and all of the traits he's been told make him a bit of a magnetic force.

Maybe it's not all luck. He works hard at mustering up that persona. There's a fair bit of anxiety beneath it. There are those days where he can't bring himself to the shop, where he can't bring himself out of his room at all, for fear of a million different things. When he's on, he's on, and it'll drain him to the core, but it's him in the end. Prompto is making that choice, after all, to be the person he's presenting as. He's making that choice to smile, to ignore the tricky parts of his brain that like to send him spiraling a bit more often than he'd care to admit. And luck would have it- another good turn of it- that he's absolutely on the ball today, with the somewhat quiet, apparently shy, utterly gorgeous friend-of-Gladio's stumbled in on him.

"It's good, right?" more sunshine, after he's taken a few bites of his own sandwich, washed it back with a draw from a fancy- and admittedly overpriced- bottle of soda. He cocks his head, makes sure his eyes are appropriately wide, his expression encouraging and open. He's going for the charm, for certain 'cuteness' factor. He's trying, exceptionally carefully, to present as entirely carefree. He has to think it's working because he wins a little smile from his companion and a nod through a full mouth.

Prompto lets the silence sit between them while they work on their respective meals. He's waiting for it to grow awkward, to edge toward discomfort, but it doesn't quite get there. His head is churning over it, counting moments, a whole inner dialogue spouting silently, anticipating responses once he does work himself up to speak, ranking topics and questions and potential answers. He does all this while he chews, while he glances around the restaurant, while he looks at Noctis. He counts the seconds he holds his gaze there, looks away on the fifth heartbeat, returns attention to his food or to one of the posters that decorate the little hole-in-the wall. And he keeps his smile firmly in place, not too bright, as to imply some sort of desperation, or worse, questionable sincerity. A lot of things are shooting through Prompto's mind at any given moment, too many things really, and it all does take so much effort.

It's definitely worth the effort, of course. He's sitting in his favorite sandwich joint with a guy he's needing to make a very conscious effort to try and pry his eyes from, and they're hitting it off, from what Prompto can see. He'd absolutely notice if it weren't the case, too, he's sure of it. He takes every detail into consideration in situations like this. He watches body language and he listens to the tone in a simple statement. He gave Noctis an out, too, before dragging him out to lunch. Yeah, there's the usual, instinctive self-doubt under the layers of careful observation, but Prompto thinks he's doing pretty damn well here, thank-you-very-much. Well enough, in any case, that he feels like he can strike up conversation again. Unexpectedly comfortable as the silence might be, words are what win you second dates, and Prompto isn't ashamed to admit to himself that he's absolutely thinking about a second date already.

"So, how long you known the big guy for?" Prompto wonders briefly if it's the right question to ask, now that their tray is starting to hit the half-emptied point. Noctis glances up from his sandwich and their eyes catch, something that makes Prompto's heart stumble in his chest, makes his muscles go a little bit tense. There's something in those eyes, he swears it, something that catches him and pulls him in and makes it so damn hard to look anywhere else. There's hesitation too, though, and of course he wonders immediately if he's made the wrong move.

"Pretty much forever," the answer is short and simple and Prompto nods, though he definitely feels that he's taken the wrong path now. There isn't any follow-up at first and Noctis is quick enough to grab for some fries, keep his mouth busy with something other than speech. Prompto knows that his facade nearly falters here, but he lets his smile grow a little bit more instead, taps a little rhythm against the table to keep the silence from falling once more.

"Gonna hafta give him hell for not introducing us sooner then," he thinks it's a pretty smooth recovery, even if there's nothing to outwardly recover from. His mind is always filling in the blanks though, always reacting to situations as if they were a bit more dire than they may actually be. He definitely notices a twitch upward to Noctis's lips. A good sign, even if Noctis doesn't do much more than nod, make an affirmative noise. Even if that initial sign is good, though, it's enough silence to make Prompto begin to wonder, begin to question the situation.

It's always a hard balance for Prompto to find- exactly how much of the talking he should be doing. He has a tendency to start up and a difficulty in realizing when to stop, in pinpointing exactly when interest has been lost and he's descended into rambling. He doesn't think it's the situation here, not just yet, but he's keenly aware of the possibility and he makes another mental note- one on a stack of hundreds- to take care there. He needs, he decides very firmly, not to fuck this up. Easier said (or thought) than done, of course.

"Alright. I think it's only fair to ask, as the guy who conned you into getting lunch instead of a tattoo," Prompto pauses for a stretch of grin, a glimpse of reaction- positive again, with the way Noctis's eyes meet his- before posing his question, "you really have no idea at all what you want?" There might be a little bit more to that question, lying beneath the surface, but it's all incidental if so. Prompto's mostly amused, if anything. He might be digging, just subtly, to get a better understanding of the guy's personality. He's scanned him for any other pieces, but Noctis went with long sleeves despite the day's heat, dark jeans to match. Beside that fact, he looked nervous as hell when he was examining the flash, and he'd needed a recommendation to get to the shop anyway. Which makes him the type of guy who dives right in, doesn't it? The sort that knows what he wants, in a broad sense, maybe misses out on the details here and there. More likely, Prompto is putting far too much weight on a whim.

Prompto is surprised when, after a beat or two, Noctis lets out a little chuckle. Not a proper laugh, but a sound of amusement. He thinks it could be a sign that he's on the right track, but Prompto is starting to get muddled here, starting to lose the plot just a touch. Even with all his practice, with all his obsession over it, he's not always the best judge, not always great at reading people. He's finding pretty quickly that he's especially not great at reading Noctis, which is just another little thrill of anxiety to leave his pulse fluttering and his palms sweating both too much for him to justify.

"Is that weird? Don't people get tattoos they totally regret later all the time?" Noctis's tone is a little bit flat, bordering on disinterest. His eyes are caught on Prompto's again though and he clearly waits for a response. Yeah, Prompto is lost here, he has to admit it now. It's wreaking havoc on his nerves, even if it's a little bit enticing too. Definitely getting a nice, mysterious vibe here, that little bit of intrigue that makes Prompto want to know more, to dig a little bit deeper.

"Well, yeah. They usually think it's a really good idea at the time, though. Like, 'oh, wow, the logo from the King's Knight tie-in movie is pretty sweet'. Not, 'in like ten years, I'm gonna finally admit to myself that movie sucked and now I hafta explain this dumb thing to every dude I sleep with'. You don't go in expecting to regret it."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience," Noctis smiles with the little jab and it makes Prompto laugh, shake his head, try to ignore the warmth in his cheeks. He considers spouting off on some tangent about just turning eighteen and having questionable judgment and the intricacies of regret. Instead, he quirks up an eyebrow and shrugs.

"Bet you'd like to know," he goes the flirtatious route instead, still aiming a bit of a jab right along with it. It's Noctis's turn to blush now and Prompto takes a fair amount of pride in being able to pull the reaction from him. His mind continues to spin, to swirl with any number of ways this could all go wrong, but luck is definitely with him today, he's sure of it. Things are turning out right. There's definitely a distinctly dad-like voice in the back of his head telling him to stop thinking so damn much.

"Kinda seems like I already do. You should probably be thanking me. Explaining later sounds like a real mood-killer," they share a laugh this time, and Prompto starts to feel just a touch more at ease. Noctis isn't any easier to read here. He feels like he's wavering back and forth, like there are two absolutely distinct parts to him, totally at odds, weighing each other out and fighting for dominance. It's nothing less than bizarre, a little bit bewildering, but it's not more than Prompto can handle. He's not gonna let it be more than he can handle.

"Now you're just trying to get me all flustered so you don't hafta answer the question. I'm totally on to you."

"Damn. Thought I'd gotten away with it for sure," Prompto is pleased by the way Noctis smiles through his reply. There's a beat of silence- three or four, to be a little bit more realistic- before he says anything else. Another one of those brief and comfortable quiets that makes it feel a lot less like they'd just met and a lot more like they're old friends. Prompto tries to work out the source of that silence. He decides that Noctis is coming up with some grand, clever answer to it all, that there will be a new joke and that he will need to be ready with another counter of his own. It doesn't turn out to be the case, though.

"Alright. I know I want something, and I know where. Just figured I'd work out the details there. You have all sorts of stuff on the walls, and you're the expert anyway," there's another pause in Noctis's words and Prompto can pick that one out easily enough as hesitation. His expression changes, too. The smile fades, and Prompto has to wonder if something landed wrong, if there was a mistake in his words somewhere, "I need a scar covered up. You can do that, right?"

The silence hits again, but this time it's a little bit less comfortable. Prompto can feel his smile slip away from him, just for a moment. There are more questions pressing behind his lips than he knows what to do with, ones he has to swallow back in order to formulate the right response. He looks Noct over again, and he considers the long sleeves, the long pants, tries to mentally pinpoint where the scar is, what needs so badly to be covered. He wants to ask, wants desperately to, but there was that change in tone, that obvious shift in demeanor and he can't quite bring himself to do it.

"Kinda. Maybe. I'd hafta see it. Working on scars is tricky. Ink takes differently, it can be hard to predict. And it's not really possible to make the scar go away, just by coloring over it. Doing it right is kinda like camouflage," Prompto is well-aware that he's at risk here of rambling, of following a tangent too far and losing track of what's at hand. And what's at hand is Noctis looking distinctly uncomfortable, maybe a little bit crestfallen. So Prompto makes a point of brightening himself up, just a little, focusing more on what positives he can pick out, "anyway, that actually means it's kinda a good thing you don't have a specific design in mind. We'll come up with something custom that works around it."

Noctis nods, but he's fallen entirely into that quiet now. Prompto doesn't push him over it this time, doesn't try to fill the space. It looks a hell of a lot like Noctis is thinking things over. There's a strange squeeze in the center of Prompto's chest while he watches the subtle changes in his face, while he wonders exactly what it is going through Noctis's mind. Scars are difficult. Those words are loud and clear and even more dad-voiced in his mind. His father is good with them, he has experience, he's probably a better choice for this work. Prompto is skilled, he's been taught and trained well, but he's young and he knows how easy these things are to screw up. Uncertainty is starting to sink in, heavy and painful claws giving that squeeze around his heart now.

"You can do that, though? Design something?" When Noctis finally speaks his tone has lifted just a touch. He sounds close to eager, and Prompto tries to feed into that energy. He gets a smile on his face that's properly genuine, or at least as close as can be hoped for with the way his mind is churning and his heart is strangely aching. He nods eagerly, before he manages to get the words out. He's confident in this much, at least, that if Noctis wants him to do this, he'll work it out. He'll talk to his dad, he'll study up, do whatever he needs to.

"Definitely. It'll be fun," he pauses though and he does make an admission, one that he thinks might hurt his prospects but one that he thinks is only fair to make, crucial even, "I've never done it before. With a scar, I mean. I can definitely design you something, but if you want someone else to do it-"

"-No," Noctis interrupts him and it's absolutely startling, makes Prompto's eyes go wide in a way that's more natural than purposefully inviting, "I mean, I've never had this done, so I won't know if you got it wrong anyway, right? Works out perfectly," this time when he smiles, it really is something else. It's not wide, or even overtly happy. There's a sort of trust there though, or at least Prompto puts that value to the expression, and it fills him with an unexpected bit of motivation. He's lacking in confidence, but he can bury that part. He's determined now, absolutely committed by that damn smile to get this right.

"Yeah, perfect," Prompto says, an agreement after a moment's pause. He considers his words only for a moment this time, dives directly in, "y'know, I should probably get to know you better, in that case. Can't really come up with my masterpiece when we've only known each other for an hour," he's inclined to brace himself, but Noctis's smile changes to an entirely pleasant one with the words.

"I’m pretty sure we can arrange that. Since you’re taking me on a second date and all,” there’s a little thrill there, something that Prompto doesn’t anticipate but something that he leans into, lets his smile break genuine and wide at. There’s definitely some luck on his side today, no two ways about it. After all, he’s pretty sure he’s made a mistake or two hundred in the brief conversations they’ve shared and still, a second date. Another confirmation that this strange attempt was a first one, “don’t hafta look so surprised. We had a wager, right? The sandwich was awesome,” and Noctis laughs, something fuller and genuine, smooth and refreshing and turning Prompto’s insides on themselves.

“Now you understand why it’s the go-to. That’s how I get ya,” it’s easier to joke, with the way Noctis’s mood has changed again. It’s all still tumultuous, spinning Prompto’s whole damn consciousness in circles. There’s a certain reliance upon instincts here that he’s never gotten the hang of, where all of his faux-confidence slips away and he has to actually rely on and even believe in himself. It’s a strange feeling, an unfamiliar and terrifying and invigorating one all at once.

“Here. Let me see your phone,” Noctis extends a hand across the table and makes a bit of a grabbing motion. Prompto’s face goes blank for just a moment, but he digs through his pocket and punches in his password with a surprisingly shaky hand. Then he watches, tries to lift himself a little, while Noctis thumbs through, makes a grinning point of hiding the screen from Prompto. There’s a pause, a tone that sounds from Noct’s pocket, and the phone slid back across the table, screen down, obscured. Prompto’s first instinct is to look, to see exactly what unspoken message was left there, but he shoves it into his pocket instead. He’s more interested, after all, in the Noctis sitting in front of him rather than behind the screen. For now, at least.

“Hope you’re not expecting a night of risque photos. I’m not into giving spoilers,” the teasing, the flirting, it’s coming a little bit easier even if Prompto’s pulse is pounding in his ears and there’s a particular warmth pressed in his pocket, attached to the idea of Noct’s fingers on the phone and Noct’s fingers on his thigh instead. He reminds himself not to think o that, not just yet. First date, and all. Still, Noctis is undeniably attractive, certainly aware of it, enticing to an absolute fault and it’s hard for Prompto not to let his mind wander just a little bit.

“Already crushing all my hopes and dreams, thanks a lot,” Prompto thinks, to be fair, that the fact that Noctis is moving to stand now is crushing a lot of his own hopes and dreams. He can’t, of course, spend an entire day out with him. He has responsibilities back at the shop, plans that can’t so easily be brushed aside. Still, he manages one of his more magnificent pouts.

“Hey, wait a second,” he knows he sounds just a bit too desperate here. He wants to think it won’t come across that way, but Prompto isn’t one for fooling himself in any positive terms. His mind is reeling while Noctis stares at him, expectant. He hasn’t come up with an excuse, but a thought strikes him and he blurts it immediately, “you came all the way to the shop and you don’t even have anything to show for it. Why don’t you let me, I dunno, pierce something,” he’s scrambling for something and it’s obvious enough. Noctis’s eyes widen a touch and a surprised sort of laughter passes his lips.

“I usually save punching holes in my body for at least the third date, y’know,” Prompto laughs at his response, though there is a sort of crestfallen feeling coupled with it. It must show through, because Noctis pauses a moment, seems to think about it, “besides, I’m kinda a boring guy. Don’t think I’d be any good with the flashy stuff in my face.”

“Doesn’t have to be in your face,” Prompto hears himself counter at once and he laughs quickly, turns his head away to obscure a certain flush that spread over freckled cheeks. He’s definitely not going to admit to picturing a defined plane of chest, adorned with some nice little rings. Absolutely not going to entertain anything lower, even if the thoughts are bubbling fresh and bright in his head, “I mean, I could just do your ear. Lots of guys go for that,” he follows up, only halfway in an effort to clear that pink tone from his face, to turn his offer a bit more innocent.

“I’ll think about it,” Noctis moves, closes a bit of the space between himself and Prompto with a quick step around the table. Prompto swears that just the proximity makes hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, makes his pulse double and his skin go all warm. Never mind when Noctis puts a hand on his arm, a gentle gesture, but a bit of contact that he can’t ignore, something of warmth and promise and a million thoughts in Prompto’s mind applying more meanings than necessary, more implications than truly exist, “in the meantime, you think about where you’re taking me this weekend. And I’ll think about how bored I am waiting desperately for your text.”

He flashes a smile. It’s that wide, open, toothy one that makes Prompto’s stomach do a flip, leaves him absolutely wordless while he nods, while he watches Noctis take his leave after a brief squeeze at Prompto’s bicep. They share a final glance when he reaches the door and he disappears, Prompto the sole victim to his whirlwind. And a whirlwind, really and truly, is what Prompto thinks Noctis is. He’s definitely swept through him, left a proper little disaster in his wake. Prompto, in fact, is left standing slack-jawed and bordering on helpless, blank stare at the door, a few moments too long after Noctis has disappeared beyond it.

His senses still haven’t entirely calmed when he makes his way through that same door, beginning a slow walk back up those few blocks to the shop. His mind is a million places at once, though that much is far from unusual for him. Prompto is pretty damn accustomed to over thinking, getting lost in his thoughts, losing the pacing and missing a beat and stumbling- both metaphorically and, a little bit too often, literally- on his face for all the effort. The walk back to the shop is all ducked head and hands shoved deep into his pockets while he tries to work through what, exactly, just happened. It’s a strange smile that keeps tugging at his lips, too, a warmth in the middle of his chest that just keeps spreading, tingling through him, lifting his spirits more than they have any right to be.

A jolt runs through him, now within eyeshot of Lion Heart’s storefront, when his phone buzzes against a pocketed fist, gives off a barely-audible but telltale ‘kweh’ of a text notification. The jolt reminds him of the work Noctis was doing with his phone, the cheeky expression when he slid it back against the table. Prompto fumbles in his hurry to fish the device from his pocket and take a look. His breath catches, the notification lit on his screen displaying a new message from ‘Noct’ with a fair number of heart-shaped emojis on either side. Another bit of fumbling, nearly dropping the whole damn thing, when he punches in his lock code to read the message proper.

The first message, the one that was intended to save the contact and was sent from Prompto’s own phone, is a string of emojis- three eggplants in a row, a peach, splashing water. It’s enough to make Prompto lose himself in laughter, pause and lean against the brick entryway rather than make his way directly into the shop. The second text makes him smile as well, as the laughter finally quiets. A simple reminder that he is now awarded a date, and he’d better make it a good one. Prompto taps a, ‘bet your ass it will be’ in response before he shoves the phone back into his pocket and shoulders his way back into the shop.

He enters to relative silence. No hum of tattoo gun in the back, no sound at all, really, other than the low house music they run on. Prompto knows he’s smiling a little bit too wide, a little too easily. He’s waiting for Cor to say something from behind the counter, really, when he plops himself down on one of the torn-up leather chairs forming a waiting area nearby. It takes a moment for Prompto to recognize the look on his father’s face, for his own expression to fall and a bit of worry to grip at him.

Cor doesn’t yell, not really. Maybe here and there, when Prompto fucks up big time, but even then it’s usually not an actual fight. There’s still an instinct, though, something that Prompto thinks must have been bred into him, maybe learned in his infancy before he had a father who made a point not to yell or fight unless it was really and properly deserved. It’s an instinct to run, or to cower away. It’s an instinct to be afraid, anxious, flighty, anything that will save him a difficult situation. Probably a character flaw, he knows, and an entirely undeserved one. Still, his shoulders sink and Prompto is making himself small in that seat.

“Keeping busy without me, huh?” Prompto tries for a little bit of light-hearted greeting, but he knows it fails. He knows that his voice is just a little bit shaky. Cor’s expression softens a touch and he leans against the counter, even offers something close to a smile. There are a lot of things that Cor will push him on. He expects dedication and commitment and hard work. He demands respect. He doesn’t, however, challenge that inexplicable sort of fear that Prompto is inclined to at the first sign of trouble. He doesn’t question that deep-seated need to please, or the terror of disappointment, and maybe that’s why there aren’t real fights, there isn’t real yelling. Somehow, it still doesn’t manage to calm Prompto’s nerves. Never really has.

“As always. How was lunch?” Even if he’s being pleasant, there’s a certain tone to his voice. Prompto doesn’t know how to take it, because he knows that tone well and it’s not the one he expected. It isn’t a disappointment over some vital chore Prompto’s mistakenly neglected. It isn’t frustration from one of the occasional customer complaints that might have been avoided with a little bit of reasoning. It’s the Dad Voice. No, it’s not just the Dad Voice. It’s the Concerned Dad Voice. Prompto almost groans. He’s bracing himself for a different sort of impact now.

“Good,” Prompto is careful with his response. His eyes and his voice and his whole damn demeanor is suspicious. He knows what’s coming. Rather, he knows the gist of what’s coming. What’s actually coming, from what angle, and why, those are still mysteries. He’s mentally leafing through their past few interactions, trying to pinpoint exactly what life lesson he’s in for today, but nothing is coming to mind. It’s disconcerting. It’s a little bit terrifying. Prompto shifts in the chair, leans heavily against the rest and works his thumbnail against well-worn leather. A nice, simple distraction. An easy nervous habit.

“And your friend?” That’s what it’s about? Prompto frowns here, and his expression is definitely turning to confusion. He’s skipped out to lunch with friends before. Hell, he’s skipped out to lunch with potential boyfriends more than once. And more than lunch, at that. Cor tends to make a point of keeping his nose out of that particular part of Prompto’s life, beyond the occasional word of advice before a date or box of condoms left conspicuously behind the counter. He doesn’t ask about who Prompto’s going out with. Really, Prompto doesn’t think he cares. Prompto is grown, after all, a man in his twenties. His dad doesn’t really need to concern himself with his casual dates.

“He’s nice. We had a good time. What’s with you?” his voice is a little bit sharp, which is very likely the exact wrong tactic here. Cor doesn’t pounce on it, doesn’t even scold him though. Instead, he sighs, and he steps from behind the counter. Prompto realizes, watching his father make a slight limp to sit on the couch opposite him, that he wishes this was more scolding. Whatever conversation is coming, he’s pretty damn sure he doesn’t want to have it.

“Prompto,” there’s that tone again, that fatherly concern. It’s written all over him, just the way Prompto is wearing his own anxiety. There’s a pause after the sound of his name, pregnant and halting and as uncomfortable as everything else, “listen. I trust your judgment, you know that. And I support you, no matter what,” oh, this really is a concerned dad talk. Prompto is absolutely squirming in his seat. There’s a sound between a whine and a groan and there’s a nod, a mumbled sort of ‘yessir’ while he waits for Cor to continue.

“You’re a grown man. I’m not going to tell you what to do,” exactly the sort of words, Prompto thinks, that someone says before they tell you what to do, “but I want you to be careful with him. I’m not talking about the normal sort of careful,” Prompto is definitely frowning now, and he thinks back again. He plays the conversation between Noct and his father in his mind, and his stomach begins to go tight, his skin a little bit hot and cold. There was recognition there, on some level. Prompto shifts again, tries to avoid the uncomfortable sensation if his heart suddenly thumping wild against his ribs.

“It was just lunch, dad. Gladio sent him in. It’s no big deal…”

“I saw you looking at him,” Cor counters the dismissal at once. Prompto, in times like these, really wishes he was in possession of some sort of mask. He’s too prone to wearing his heart on his sleeve. It works out for him, when luck is on his side, but it seems like luck went off somewhere in the vague direction of the Citadel some minutes earlier, “what has Gladio told you?”

“Nothing. I mean, he mentioned maybe sending me a client, but that’s it. What… I don’t get this. What’s going on? You know him, right? Just say whatever it is you wanna say, ‘cause I really don’t know what you’re getting at,” he’s irritable now, though mostly out of concern, that familiar anxiety. And a horrible feeling of excitement, anticipation, happiness turning to dust in front of him so easily.

“I know about him. I knew his father,” Knew. There’s something in that word that makes Prompto’s brows furrow, makes his breath catch a little. There’s something in all of this that makes him so damn uneasy, makes him wish the conversation was over, “listen. I’m not suggesting you avoid him, but I want you to be careful, Prompto. If you like him, that’s fine. I just want you to be careful. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

“I’m not gonna get hurt, dad,” there’s a pause before Prompto makes this assurance and another before he speaks again. He’s almost inclined to push the issue, to ask for more details. There was a hint in there, about Gladio, almost an unspoken encouragement for Prompto to take initiative on that route. He’s considering that, more than he’s considering pressing his father for whatever information he seems privy to. His thumbnail cuts across the leather, scores little lines in it, “I’ll be careful. Promise. Might be helpful if I knew what to be careful about, though.”

“Maybe nothing. It’s...just a feeling I have. Maybe I’m wrong. I just want you to keep your guard up. I know you, Prompto, and I know how quick you like to dive in. I’m just saying, you should take your time with this one. That’s all,” Prompto wants to say that he’s relieved by the way Cor says the words, the finality to the statement. The warning, however, is vague and it’s menacing. It’s just enough information to make him wonder, little enough to make his mind go a million different directions, to make him obsessively recount that first date, search for signs, question every damn word they shared.

“Okay,” Prompto shifts again, abandons his work at half-carving shapes into the arm of the chair, pushes himself up to his feet, “I’m gonna go finish cleaning up, alright?” he nods toward the hall before he starts in that direction, waits for Cor’s silent nod before he turns away. It’s a relief when he makes it into his studio room, gets the door shut behind him, sits himself on the little rolling stool. He propels himself with both heels, so he can plant his back against the wall. The lights are harsh in here and there is still plenty to clean after his pre-lunch client. It was a touch irresponsible to leave everything in this state, he knows.

That doesn’t stop him from fishing his phone out again, though, to shoot a message at Gladio before he sets to work:

‘Call me. ASAP.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional tags: parental death, mental health mentions (anxiety)


	3. Roll Me Through the Gates of Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the ending notes for additional tags if you have any concerns about potentially triggering content!!

“That was...quick,” there’s barely a moment for Noctis to gather his bearings on entering the apartment before Ignis is turning on the sofa, twisting over the back to take a look at him. He’s still, in fact, shooting off a message to his new  _ friend  _ when the words hit. He finishes, ignores the comment for a moment or two so he can press the send button, before he makes his way over to sit himself down right alongside. It’s uncomfortable, but everything is a bit uncomfortable for Noctis any more.

He knows it’s going to be an Issue. Everything has been an Issue with Ignis lately. In all honesty, everything has been an Issue with Ignis for a long while now. Months of hard-fought recovery, good behavior, and slowly improving outlook haven’t eased the man’s caution. It’s frustrating, annoying even, but it’s impossible for Noctis to properly blame him. He was there, after all, through the worst of it. He’s the one responsible for Noctis being here to be annoyed at all. That doesn’t stop the groaning though, nor the rolling of eyes.

“Just a consult,” Noctis endeavors to put a certain amount of disinterest in his tone. There are a lot of things he shares with Ignis. They’ve grown up together. They’re brothers in all but blood. Noctis is inclined to trust him, implicitly and entirely. However, that doesn’t mean he ever looks forward to Ignis’s opinion on matters. Particularly not when those matters are cute boys asking him on dates- some of the first contact he’s had with strangers in months. He doesn’t know how to bring that topic up. He doesn’t know, further, if he  _ should _ . 

“I see. He’ll be able to work with it?” Ignis has made his opinions clear enough on the topic. He’s said things about living with one’s own truth and accepting the past and all sorts of bullshit that, really, Noctis could do well enough without. He hasn’t taken a hard line against the thought of a tattoo though, not so much as he has shown that damned  _ concern  _ about reasoning and rationale and things that Noctis never meant to think about but was thus compelled to. Ignis has too good a head on his shoulders for Noct’s taste at times, and he knows that this is going to be just one of those times. Still, he recalls the therapy sessions, he remembers words of guidance that he really  _ has  _ been endeavoring to heed, and he shrugs out some honesty.

“Dunno, really. Didn’t show him. Said he can work with scars, but it’s hard. He wants to get to know me better, design something around it,” Noctis is still working with that casual tone, though he knows damn well that Ignis can see right through it. Nothing gets past that man. It’s totally unfair. Noct is about a thousand percent convinced that Ignis has some sort of detective-style superpower, something that lets him sniff out bullshit from a mile away, and especially when it’s  _ Noct’s  _ bullshit. He has a certain sort, after all. Noctis isn’t going to lie to him, but he’s going to skirt around the truth and he’s going to try and avoid it, all but begging Ignis to dig a little deeper, to work out the root of whatever he’s saying. Something about deflection rings in the back of his head. He tries to let that particular point slide.

“Are those two points related?” Ignis is mirroring that air of only mild interest, but his eyes are burning into Noct- he can absolutely  _ feel  _ the gaze on him. He’s already catching on, of course. Maybe it was the stupid smile that was still glued to his face when he came into the apartment. Maybe it’s something in the way he’s holding himself, or that he’s glanced at his phone waiting for it to sound off a little chime at least twice since he sat himself down. Noct tries to work out what hints Ignis picks up on from time to time, maybe in an effort to mask himself better next time. Mostly in an effort to understand how the hell the guy’s mind works- a point that a dozen years still hasn’t clarified. Both intentions still elude him. 

“...Yeah? If he knows me, he can design something that fits,” Noct knows exactly how defensive his tone is though, he knows that Ignis has gone straight to the truth here, that there’s no real hiding the facts from him. Noct isn’t entirely convinced that he  _ wants  _ to hide anything from Ignis. There’s been a lot of hiding for a long time between the two of them. Well, at least on Noct’s end. He doesn’t think that Ignis is quite so guilty, save certain sordid details regarding the parts of Ignis’s life that have always remained mystery, privacy-closely guarded. So he endures the not-quite-convinced sound Ignis makes and he lets silence fall between them.

This is a different silence than the ones he’d felt with Prompto, on that date. Things are generally comfortable with Ignis, or at least they were at one point. Now, Noctis is more inclined to think that every look Ignis gives him means a little bit more. He’s convinced, at any given moment, that there’s a bit of judgment behind those eyes, right along with all the concern and questioning. And, sure, there’s still that brotherly affection that he needs, that he’s depended on for such a long time, longer even than he’s been the rock-bottom-wreck he would label himself as now. It doesn’t feel like the primary feeling any more though, feels almost like an obligated afterthought. It makes Noct’s stomach sink. It makes him shift, try to shift his mind right with his body, into something logical. His self-doubt eats at him, more than it ever had before, and that’s really saying something. 

“He took me to lunch,” Noctis breaks that silence- the one that his own brain is turning to awkward discomfort- with words spoken a little bit too quick and too low, words that sound a hell of a lot like a confession. There’s a beat between the words and Noctis glancing, taking in Ignis’s inquisitive stare, before he elaborates, “and he asked me on a date. This weekend,” more silence. Noctis wonders if he should’ve said anything at all, but there’s a strange and inexplicable smile playing up his lips with that admission, something he can’t wipe away and can’t explain. His face feels a little bit too warm and his stomach a little bit twisted up. It’s not, on the whole, an unpleasant feeling.

“You sound pleased,” Ignis says, and Noctis almost crumples in on himself, really. He’s making a conscious attempt to not sound anything at all, but of course Ignis can see through that. He’s only had the majority of a lifetime to pick up on the subtle cues, the little hints. Noctis has to wonder, though, why he’s so concerned with Ignis thinking he’s pleased in the first place, because he really and truly  _ is _ . He’s pleased that the cute, bubbly blond dragged him off to lunch and rambled on to him here and there, that he took it upon himself to shift it into a date, to flirt, to draw Noct impossibly from his carefully crafted shell. He’s horribly pleased by it all. That’s the problem, he decides, that being so pleased is really, really scary.

“I guess I am,” he admits it though, and he even allows a hint of smile. What good is there in hiding it, he asks himself, what good especially in hiding it from Ignis? Hiding it from his brother, who he trusts, who he relies upon far more than he knows he should. Well, there’s another point in the ‘why not’ column, another one he tries to ignore, “he’s… nice. And cool. I mean, he does tattoos, that’s a pretty cool job. And he’s funny. He makes me laugh,” he becomes aware suddenly of the fact that he’s rambling, the fact that he sounds like a lovesick damn schoolgirl going on and on about his new crush. He glances at his phone again, still quietly waiting for it to light up and sound off and give him some indication that maybe Prompto is feeling the same thing.

Ignis is smiling, a tight-lipped little twitch of his lips that tugs away some of Noct’s anxiety. It’s not the anticipated response, but it’s an absolutely welcome one. Noctis, well, he has no idea how he’s supposed to be feeling right now. There are little butterflies in his stomach, bouts of excitement that he really and truly thought, for quite some time now, he was no longer capable of feeling. His insides are twisting and his eyes are magnetized to his phone, awaiting some response, awaiting some reassurance he didn’t just dream this whole thing up. And, yeah, he’s still smiling himself. Smiling like an idiot at this point, a little pink in the cheeks and shifting on the sofa and ignoring Ignis’s gaze on him.

“Refreshing to hear from you,” Ignis says, and he says it in a tone that is utterly genuine, something that Noct thinks really does mean he’s pleased with what little he’s been told. He doesn’t know why he wants so badly for Ignis to approve, with such little information, for such a simple and barely-committal arrangement. It’s always been like that, though. Ignis is, for all intents and purposes, by all means that matter, his big brother. The guy that he half-wishes he could model himself after, even if it’s a standard he knows damn well he won’t live up to. His approval means the world, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you smile so much since before the accident.”

A silence falls again, and this one is tense, uncomfortable in the most pure form of the word. They do their best, really, not to talk about the accident, the feelings associated with it. The guilt that both of them shoulder is heavy, impossibly heavy, and the recovery has been far from smooth. Almost a year out and they both carry their own scars. The difference being that Ignis doesn’t wear his on his sleeve. He doesn’t wear  _ anything  _ on his sleeve, in all reality, so it’s only fair. Still, Noct’s right hand moves on instinct, toys over the opposite sleeve, tugs down until he can grip the edges of soft fabric in a fist. 

“I guess. I dunno,” Noct knows he’s shutting down, just that brief mention enough to drop the butterflies from his stomach and replace them with stones, enough to turn his blood a little cool and his expression much cooler. He knows that Ignis will feel bad about it, and he does wish he could hold up the excited demeanor, but it feels impossible just now, the way his mind is drifting back, the way his vision seems to go all tinted with red, “just thought it might be nice. Make a friend or whatever,” he lets his voice trail off. He feels a little foolish now, that pretty bubble that had formed in his chest so easily burst. It’s not Ignis’s fault, not really. He was only trying to be positive. It’s all on Noctis, who is afraid his mind will never stay glued together again, not when that bit of past is mentioned, not when he has to think about what he’s done and what he hasn’t, what’s been holding him to this couch almost exclusively for months.

“Where do you plan to go? For your date,” Ignis pushes right through that silence, casts it aside as easily as anything. Noctis is envious of that, of the ability to simply keep moving forward. He’s never been particularly skilled on that front, though he wants to think that this- the tattoo he intended and the date he got instead- might be a step in the right direction. He tries to pay attention to Ignis, to what he’s saying more than what is blowing off in his own mind. It’s not easy to ignore, the potential for a breakdown is high- it always is- but Noctis manages to shrug and turn his face to thought.

“Dunno. He didn’t say. Just that he wanted to take me out again,” Noctis frowns though. It’s been a long time since he’s been on a date. He doesn’t think he remembers quite how it works. Hell, with Luna it had all been so simple, they had barely gone through that ‘dating’ stage. They had grown up together, grown close, and then very specifically grown staunchly apart. He thinks about her for a moment, with a tightness in his stomach. There’s an urge to call her, maybe send a text, ask what she thinks. Their break-up wasn’t a pleasant one, but nothing at that point in Noct’s life was pleasant. He doesn’t think there’s animosity, but he can’t quite stop himself from feeling uneasy, feeling a surge of guilt that his first reaction to being asked on a date is going to his former fiance for advice on it.

“Well, I’m sure-”

“-Iggy. I need your help,” Noctis is surprised by the blurted admission and he feels his face grow warm from it. Ignis is surprised too, that much is clear. He lifts an eyebrow, turns his head slightly to face Noctis more fully. They’re subtle bits of surprise, but Ignis is always subtle, in every damn thing he does, every expression and every movement. It’s another little bit of personality, a point of demeanor that Noct wishes so desperately he could emulate. He brushes those thoughts aside though and he offers up a look that he knows is nothing short of pathetic. He realizes, quite quickly, that he’s desperate though. And he realizes, just as immediately, that this is the one person he trusts enough to face with it. He can’t talk to Luna- they’ve barely spoken since the breakup, and it’s absolutely not her place, whether he still considers her a close confidant or not. And Gladio? Well, Gladio is the one who got him in this position in the first place. It’s not that he suspects indiscretion so much as he suspects a sort of smug response, maybe a bit of teasing, something that Noctis isn’t sure he’s able to sort through just now.

“Of course,” Ignis barely misses a beat with his response. Noct is, as he so often tends to be with Ignis, incredibly grateful for it. Ignis understands him, as much as anyone can. More than that, he’s a goddamn genius when it comes to this sort of stuff. He’s always on with the dumb romantic gestures, the fancy dates and perfectly groomed looks to wear on them. He’s all suave and confident and he’s  _ good  _ at it, and really, Noctis is the exact opposite on every front. He wonders if there’s really any saving the situation for himself. Whatever Ignis tells him, whatever he does, Noct has the horrible feeling he’s only going to fall flat on his face. Still, the idea of some guidelines, some advice, something to keep in the back of his mind through it all, is a comforting one. Hell, just having Ignis on his side, aware and supportive does him a world of good. There’s a thought in the back of his mind, something his therapist has mentioned about accepting help, about not needing to go at everything alone. He even makes a mental note to bring this up next time he goes in. He envisions some sort of pride in her eyes, some sort of approval of exactly the sort she tells him he doesn’t need so desperately to seek. Baby steps.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Iggy. I don’t even know why I said yes. I’m totally freaking out. I don’t even know what we’re gonna do, and I’m  _ totally  _ freaking out,” the words pour right out, stream over each other, make Noct want to wince. They’re honest words though, sentiments that make Ignis’s expression go all soft while he listens, while he spends a moment considering. 

“One point at a time,” Ignis finally says. His voice is smooth and slow and there’s a relaxing quality there. He’s good in times of crisis, even if this is a comparatively small one, all things considered. He has a way of grounding Noct that is absolutely essential in a case like this, “take a breath. Think. We’ll go through it, one by one,” he keeps that tone, keeps that certainty that feels like a safety net while Noct’s sitting on his tightrope. Noctis follows the instructions. He takes a deep breath, counts, allows it to drift out slow and measured. It helps, just a little, to clear his mind. He inhales again, makes an attempt to focus, “tell me. What’s the absolute worst outcome here?”

Noctis considers this. He knows the tactic well, and in another situation it might be enough to make him hiss and protest. It fits the situation though and he thinks about it all, going through one point after another in his head. There are a million things rolling through his mind all at once, a million points of conversation that make the future feel like a minefield. How much does he tell Prompto, how much does he keep to himself? Is he lying, if he keeps hiding the scar, if he keeps avoiding the whole point of his visit to the parlor in the first place? Is it unfair, not to tell him all of the details of his past, about the girl he thought he was in love with, who he thought he was going to marry, about the accident, about the deaths, about everything that followed? 

“He might want me to pick him up,” Noctis begins with a simple point, one that he knows they can breeze through. One that he can accept as trivial, at best. One that still touches on the insecurities he keeps tightly bundled at the center of his chest and the forefront of his mind.

“And if you tell him you don’t drive? What is his reaction?” Ignis keeps his tone even, but he presses here. He’s making Noctis think clearly, rationally, a point that he’s never entirely inclined toward. He’s good at worst-case scenarios like this, running through them in his head, picking out every part of the scene where he becomes the loser, the incompetent kid who can’t care for himself, who can’t handle even the most basic day-to-day tasks. He’s even better at convincing himself that any of these unrealistic scenarios are likely to pass.

“I...guess he probably wouldn’t care. I walked to the shop, and we walked together to lunch,” Noctis allows himself to admit this much and Ignis nods. There’s a part of him, buried deep, that knows just how absurd his anxiety can be. Saying it out loud, it offers up some perspective, as uncomfortable as that all is. He wouldn’t do this on his own, can’t do this on his own, but he has Ignis there to catch him and point him in the right direction and that’s precisely what he needs.

“Good. No need to worry over transportation. Plenty of couples on the underground, you know. Or, perhaps he drives,” Ignis offers more consolation here, even if it’s not framed as such. In turn, Noctis takes another deep breath and he nods, feels a small wash of relief. His heart is still working an uncomfortable gallop, making him shift and squirm, but the pace is going even and some of the tension eases behind his neck and between his shoulders, “what’s next? You’ve made it through the transport, you’re off to dinner we’ll say.”

“I can’t talk to him. I don’t know what to say. I just… sit and stare like some freak. We eat in total silence and he’s, like, ready to bolt the moment the check comes,” this is another easy one, still not touching the full issues at hand. It  _ is  _ more to the heart of the matter, though. Noctis doesn’t know how to go on a date, he doesn’t know how to make conversation with a relative stranger. He definitely doesn’t know how to properly flirt, even if he thinks he might have had a go at it with Prompto earlier. There are too many words that could take on the wrong meaning, too many memories waiting to leap at him, cut him down at the first opportunity.

“You spoke to him today, didn’t you? Shared a meal?” Ignis coaxes out some rationality here, too. It’s true, of course. They had their little lunch ‘date’- the one Noctis wasn’t sure Prompto seriously meant as one- and it didn’t go badly. They fell quiet here and there, shared looks that were shy and uncertain, but an atmosphere that was pleasant, comfortable even. There’s no denying that it went well, not when he got a second date out if it, a whole week in between to stress over such.

“Yeah. It was alright,” he’s downplaying, and Ignis lifts an eyebrow again, as if to silently point it out. Noct groans and his fingers move, tangle at the back of his hair, a sort of nervous gesture, a sort of excuse to create some sort of movement, to focus his energy somewhere other than his nerves, “it was good. We talked, and when we didn’t, it wasn’t bad. We… get on pretty well, I guess.” 

“I’d say, if he’s asked you out again,” Ignis is kind with these words, ones that invite a hint of levity. Noctis manages a smile to them, still uneasy, but genuine all the same. Again, Ignis has a point. Their lunch went well enough that Prompto was clearly interested in seeing Noct again, and there’s not really a whole lot of denying that it comes down to more than a potential client. That’s the point, though, that has sharp edges and the ability to stick. That’s where Noct’s breath catches in his chest and Ignis narrows his eyes, “so what is it really, Noct? What has you so concerned?”

He doesn’t want to go through this. Noctis very much regrets asking for the help in the first place at this point. He doesn’t want to tell Ignis the truth- a truth that he’s sure he’s well-fucking-aware of. He doesn’t want to admit all of the shame, uncertainty, regret that he’s swimming through, the way that it’s so immediately present. The way that it suddenly feels like no time at all has passed between where they sit right now and where a rug is placed over a stain that hasn’t quite faded. Covering it all up, that’s the way to go about it, right?

“There’s two ways it can go, right? Either, it goes really badly and I feel like shit and that’s the end of it, or it goes not-badly and…” his voice trails, Noctis lifts his arm in a strange sort of self-gesture.

“And?” Ignis is pushing him to go on, to work through that point that hovers so heavy and almost palpable between them. He all but presses Noct’s face into the truth there, into the reality of the situation, into what he’s trying so desperately to avoid. He’s not being being cruel, as much as it feels like the opposite. He’s not even being unkind. This is, after all, the point that has Noct’s heart pounding and palms sweating even while he still keeps glancing at his phone, hoping for Prompto’s name to pop onto the screen.

“And I have to tell him I’m a worthless sack of shit who killed two people, then failed to finish himself off,” Noctis closes his eyes because they’re burning, his whole face suddenly hot and tingling and scrunched up. He’s pretty sure Ignis flinches at the words- they’re not pretty ones, not easy ones to say. Not words that Ignis thinks Noct should be saying, nor ones that Noctis wants to admit. They’re the truth though, and he can’t get past that fact. He can’t get past the fact that, sooner or later, that point comes out and Prompto doesn’t look at him with those pretty and wide starry eyes. Hell, that point comes out and Prompto probably doesn’t ever look at him again. 

“Your phrasing could probably use some work,” Noctis wants to be mad about the response, but he can’t be. Ignis’s hand closes on his shoulder, draws him in, and Noctis doesn’t fight it. He lets his knees curl up, lets his body go small and lean into Ignis’s and as much as he fights them off, a few tears slip, through a bit of cold laughter. Ignis is serious and stern, but he’s not without humor, albeit of a dark sort. And he’s not without a good sense of when Noct  _ needs  _ that.

“Probably shouldn’t lead with that, huh?” he manages a half- joke of his own, through heavy sniffing, through thick sobs building and congesting in his chest and at the back of his throat. It’s so easy, so precarious now. There are those shifts, the impossible highs and the inescapable lows, and he’s gone from the prior directly into the latter with impressive speed. He tosses his phone aside, lets it hit the coffee table with a dull thud, gathers his arms up to hug his knees closer to his chest. He’s pitying himself, he’s carrying perhaps more blame than he necessarily deserves. And worse than that, he’s making Ignis relive it all again, too. He really is horribly, unforgivably selfish, he thinks. He really did do a disservice by surviving. 

“Something to save for the third date, perhaps,” Ignis lets his voice go low. His arm shifts and he gets an embrace wrapped around Noct’s shoulders fully. Noct, in turn, leans into his chest, lets his face hide against expensive silk and comforting warmth. It’s all so damn difficult, so impossibly hard, and he wants with a gripping, tearing sort of ferocity, for just the opposite. Just once, he wants to scream, can’t something be  _ simple _ ? He doesn’t scream though, doesn’t say anything at all. He tries the deep breaths again, tries to match the rise and fall of Ignis’s chest against his cheek. Tries to think of something, anything, to clear his mind.

“You’re making progress, Noct. It takes time, you know that,” Ignis goes on, and he still has that steady tone, all reassurance, all understanding. Of course he does. He wouldn’t be Ignis without it. Again, a rush of gratitude grips at Noct’s galloping heart, washes through him and has him press just a little bit closer. He doesn’t deserve to have Ignis on his side, not after everything he’s put him through. But here they are, Ignis guiding him through yet again. He owes him so much, not least of which, an apology or three. He doesn’t offer that up though, not here and now, when he’s still so dependent, when he’s still so certain it would only be brushed aside. There’s a certain amount of shame that comes with crumbling this way, and Noct knows he’ll be wrestling with it later. For now, though, it’s what he needs. It’s what he so fucking desperately needs.

“I really like him. I want him to keep liking me,” there’s a sort of burrowing sensation in Noct’s belly, just below his ribs and right in the center. It makes him want to be sick, literally and physically, to dart to the bathroom and empty out that pleasant shared lunch. It makes him want to crawl into bed and sob, until there’s nothing left. It’s too much honesty, too much vulnerability. He’s pressed so close to Ignis, leaning on him just about as hard as he ever has, and he hates it. He hates being so pathetic, so weak. He hates being himself, in bits and spurts, despite all of this so-called progress. 

“If your past is enough to make him stop liking you, that’s his own loss,” Ignis is firm again, bordering on fierce. He’s being protective here, and it’s a bit that Noct would otherwise rebel against, if he didn’t need it so goddamn badly just now. He hates how much he needs it, right along with every other thing he’s internally critiquing, internally despising. Ignis can probably guess that much too, he can probably feel it radiating from him.

“Not much of one,” Noct knows he’s spiraling, and he’s not trying to hide it. He feels Ignis’s fingers grip a little bit more firmly into his shoulder. He regrets the words, even if he believes them. He wants to feel happy again, he wants to climb back up to that high point he’d found with Prompto’s help so shortly before, but it feels like an endless pit, perfectly smooth walls, nowhere to catch his fingers or hold his feet, and the rope Ignis is sending down, his fingers just can’t stretch high enough to get a good grip.

“Let him make that decision. He sees something there, or he wouldn’t have asked you out,” Ignis pauses, seems to consider again, “and if you’re not comfortable telling him everything right away, then don’t. It’s a second date, Noctis. You’ll have fun if you let yourself. Let this guy make his own decisions. Be yourself, you’ll be fine,” they’re such cliche words, overly sentimental ones, but somehow the way that Ignis says them helps Noctis relax just a little bit. They stay there, just that way, sitting pressed together with Ignis squeezing around his shoulders and offering up long, even breaths for Noct to model his own after. He waits patiently for the worst of it to pass, for Noctis to fall to exhaustion rather than panic. He really does know him too damn well. And, well, Noct really is exhausted.

He tries to remember the last time he spent so much time away from the apartment, away from the safety he’s built himself here. His mind goes a little blank. He walked down to the complex gym a day or two ago, met up with Gladio there. Just for a little bit, mostly just to talk, and still well within the bounds of perceived safety. The jaunt to the parlor, the lunch, the phone that he’s pretty sure went off, but that he can’t bring himself to check, those are all new to him. Or, rather, they’re strange remnants, from a time when he didn’t feel so guilty about having a life that he actually allowed himself to live one.

“Thanks Iggy,” he forces himself to murmur the words. His eyes still burn, still lie wet around the edges and with tears streaked half-dry across his cheeks. The panic is still edging, ebbing, threatening to roll through him in inescapable aftershocks. He untangles himself from Ignis, forces his way to his feet after another measured breath. He needs a break, he needs to recover, that’s all.

“Where are you going?” Ignis’s voice is a little bit sharp, it’s tinged with worry. Noctis can’t blame him, yet again. He pauses and he tenses, he wants to snap something back, but he stops himself. It’s not Ignis’s fault. He has to keep remembering that. He’s the one who put himself in this situation. He’s the one who gave reason for such concern. He leans down to grab up his phone, shoves it in his pocket.

“I’m gonna lie down for a little bit. Come get me for dinner?” he sees Ignis’s lips shift open and he adds, quick and without too much annoyance, “I’ll leave the door open. I’ll be okay. Just need to sleep it off,” he manages something close to a smile. It wins him a nod from Ignis, and he’s sure there’s a little look of guilt there. He didn’t necessarily mean to evoke it, but there was still an edge to his words, that little hint of anger that he can’t quite do away with. He’s tired of being babysat, of having Ignis linger at his side, watch over him every damn waking moment. However, he’s still not entirely even, his moods still haphazard and unpredictable, and the truth is simple. He still probably  _ needs  _ the babysitting. Still probably needs the extra bits of concern, even if he wants to think they’re overwrought.

“Really. Thanks,” he manages as he heads to his room, his head ducked low, sincerity in his voice. Ignis tells him to sleep well, promises he’ll wake him for supper, and Noctis slides his way into darkness. It’s all blackout curtains and a mess of clothes in his room, something that Ignis only fails to lecture him on because there are so many more pressing lectures to give. Noct tosses his phone to the mattress and he makes quick enough work of undressing. His pants kick off without too much effort. He tugs the jumper over his head, tosses it into a pile vaguely designated in his mind as ‘not too rank’. There’s a moment where he hesitates at the edge of the bed. He looks himself over, and more pointedly, he looks to the scar.

It’s a thick line, still raised and dark, an angry memory. It stretches, base of his palm connected midway to his elbow. There’s a sort of dotted outline, if he looks close enough. Remnants of hasty stitching, of that haphazard scramble to keep his life from entirely leaking out. It’s all shame, in layers and layers, coming at him from every angle. He turns his arm, hides it from his own view, throws himself into the bed. There’s no hiding it from Prompto, not forever, and there won’t be much hiding what it is. Will he be expected to explain? Will he have a decent explanation?

He thinks, maybe, he’s not ready yet. Maybe the time is wrong. Maybe he should call the whole thing off, apologize, make up some excuse, chalk it up as a learning experience. He could block the number, simply stop replying. It would hurt, for a little while, but it’s not so hard to avoid someone when you never leave your apartment. It’s not so hard to avoid someone you’ve only met once, only on a whim. Not when you know where they work, not when one of your closest friends probably knows where they live.

But he unlocks his phone and he looks at the screen and there are messages waiting for him now. A sweet little confirmation of their date, ‘you bet your ass’ for something good. And a brightly lit photo of Prompto in his studio, holding up what Noct has to describe as the most intimidating needle he’s ever seen in his life, with a caption of ‘next time’. Something shifts inside him again, uneasy and uncertain, but he clicks the screen off without a response and he hides a smile when he buries his face into the pillows and tugs the blankets up over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional tags: parental death, car accident, past suicide attempt, self-harm, depression, intrusive thoughts


	4. My Own Worst Enemy

Prompto spends a good portion of his life, if he’s being entirely honest about it all, wondering what the hell he’s doing. He looks back and tries to pinpoint precisely how he’s gotten himself into a given situation, when the walls are set to closing in and the ceiling is poised to come crashing down. He retraces steps and re-examines decisions, questions every choice, relives every possible moment. It’s not always like this. He can get through days at a time without the careful obsession, when luck is on his side. Standing outside Noctis’s apartment, staring up at the incredible height and then down to meet the doorman’s eye is not one of those lucky situations.

He had his dad’s warnings, all vague and confusing and ominous by nature, on his mind while he dressed. Then undressed. Then redressed. He tried to work out why, exactly, he had to suddenly be careful with a second- first proper- date. It wasn’t the easy sort of care he was being told to take, either. It wasn’t about stopping at the pharmacy or making sound decisions to avoid an awkward doctor’s visit. It was definitely about protecting his heart, a bit of him that was entirely out of sorts, working overtime while he buttoned the third, final shirt, staring himself down in the mirror.  He had it in mind while he headed out of the apartment, a good half hour earlier than he really needed to, only to step back in, retrieve forgotten wallet. Step out, step back in, retrieve forgotten flowers. Make it down the hall, backtrack to lock door.

The drive, through neighborhoods that he’s never seen, where his car- something on the old side, reliable, covered with maybe a few too many stickers- looked about as out of place as he was feeling, was thick with the memory of a conversation with Gladio. And, hell, even just the memory of the conversation was making Prompto grip a little bit tighter against the steering wheel, all sweaty palms and darting eyes and ears perked for his phone to give off the next direction.

It had been a rare phone conversation for the two of them, a pair who spend most of their hours together with either a few needles or a few stiff drinks between them. Gladio is a good friend, Prompto doesn’t really deny that fact, but he’s a friend with a specific setting, a usual backdrop. He isn't the sort of guy who Prompto would simply call up, would ask for advice or even just chat with, if there weren't drinks or ink between them. So the conversation with Gladio, on the heels of something that was soon confirmed as an honest-to-god setup, was something that could never be less than awkward. Not surprising, really, in Prompto's mind. Far too many of his interactions, after all, are nothing less than awkward. That didn't change the fact, however, that Prompto was squirming through it all, whining about Gladio's dishonesty- even if, as Gladio was quick to point out, it benefitted him- and trying to pry any hint of information about Noctis out of the exchange.

Information, quite unfortunately, was coming in sparse, to be incredibly generous. There was a lot of talk about how it's important to get information on his own, how getting to know someone is all the fun of taking them on dates. Prompto had definitely responded with something lewd that was rewarded in a groan and a grunt and a general air of annoyance. In the end, the most Prompto was able to ascertain was that Gladio had absolutely sent his friend to Lion Heart with the express intention of getting him at the very least a new friend, if not the proper date he'd wound up with. And he learned that just taking Noct out to a bar would be a bad plan, unless Prompto was intending to make a drunken fool of himself all alone. In all, it was barely worth the effort of the phone call, certainly nothing that Prompto couldn't have worked out through text in the days between meeting and today.

As for Noctis, their exchanges had been far from awkward, in a normal human being sense. There had been daily texts, back and forth, most of them about nothing at all. It's easy to talk to him, Prompto realized that part before it ever got to the stage of waiting for a second date. There's something between them, some meshing of their personalities, that simply clicks. That much admitted, Prompto was still sat in the parking lot, waiting away that endless expanse of time between their scheduled meeting and his arrival by scrolling back through every message, analyzing every dumb thing he possibly said. Feeling his heart thump a little when Noctis offered up a little bit of flirtation, or a photo of whatever he happened to be up to. Prompto is good at all of that- the overthinking, the reading between lines that have nothing between them to be read. He's good at making problems before they ever have a chance to  appear on their own. He was good enough at all that, that he nearly called the whole thing off about a dozen times. 

Now, however, he's standing there all awkward, firing off a text that he's outside, that he's pretty sure the doorman suspects something of him, they way their eyes keep meeting and his keep narrowing. The bit that follows that text, though, is the terrible part. It's the part where he's shifting, pacing around, trying to figure out what to do with his free hand. Trying to convince himself that the little bouquet of flowers are an amusing enough half-joke, that it's not overbearing or weird, to bring such a cliche gift on a second date. Trying to convince himself that, really, this isn't going to be bad. He's not going to ruin everything, say exactly the wrong things at exactly the wrong times and never hear from or see Noctis again. Trying to convince himself that he's not being stood up, when his phone doesn't sound off with a response a moment or two after he hits 'send'. 

Prompto knows damn well that he over thinks, that he's got a tendency toward panic when there's nothing to be panicking about. He knows about taking deep breaths and thinking about what will go right, being realistic about the situation and about himself in it. He knows about focusing on the parts of this that he can control and learning to roll with the parts he can't. His father has given him that advice a million times, for a million different reasons. It doesn't mean that Prompto didn't spend the night before wide awake, staring at the ceiling and willing himself to stop jumping at every creak and groan the apartment made around him. It definitely doesn't mean he isn't jumping in his skin now, when his phone finally vibrates and dings with an entirely expected response. He goes for another one of those deep breaths he's heard such great things about and reads the message.

_ 'door guy doesn't bite come on up'  _

Prompto isn't a fan of that, he's got to admit. He'd be perfectly happy, for the moment, not to have to walk into those doors, past the non-biting guy, up elevators and down hallways, trying to work one door out of about a thousand. He's tempted to message right back, to ask if Noct can't just meet him out front, but he resists the urge. He shoves the phone in his pocket, tries his absolute best- very likely failing, at that- to keep his head high, to have the look of someone who is exactly where he belongs, and he marches himself toward those front doors. There's a nod from Mr. Totally-Not-Terrifying-Door-Guardian as Prompto approaches and, as the title might imply, the man opens the door for him. He has to wonder exactly what the purpose of that is, given the fact that Prompto has clearly never been here before, probably just as clearly doesn't seem to have any business in the building. Did Noctis call down ahead of time? Did he tell him to be on the lookout for a weird blond, probably halfway to a heart attack? 

His phone goes off again, another little jump while Prompto enters a foyer that he can only describe as being a hell of a lot fancier than any place he could ever see himself living. The floors are all sleek black tile, reflecting big, modern looking white lights some place impossibly high overhead. There's a fountain- a goddamn fountain- and a little sitting area beyond it. A few things occur to Prompto all at once, before he brings himself to look at the new message. The first point to enter his mind is that he is about to be going on a date with someone who can, in no universe, be impressed by wherever he will be taken. Not when he lives in the sort of place that looks like a hotel. Not when he lives in the sort of place that looks like a hotel that costs more for a night than Prompto makes in a week. A sharp, sinking feeling follows that realization. He considers briefly his bank account, considers the reservations he made at a restaurant that really isn't the sort of place that even requires reservations in the first place. Considers that their agreements were all such casual plans- seeing a movie, maybe roaming around town a bit. Nothing that Prompto can see as fitting the tastes of a resident to a place like this.

Another consideration crosses his mind too, this one that he has absolutely no idea how the hell to even get to Noct's apartment, or which apartment that actually is. This is enough to remind him of the second message, one that is simply a unit number. Prompto curses to himself at it, curses to himself at all of this. There's a struggle, while he's crossing the foyer to a pair of intimidatingly large, shined-to-reflective elevator doors, for Prompto to remember that he wants to be here. Well, maybe not that he wants to be here precisely, but that he wants to be on this date. When he steps into the little glass box, he's going through all the messages in his mind again, recounting one after another. Noctis knows where he works. Noctis must know that he doesn't have this kind of money, whatever kind of standing Prompto had somehow missed. Maybe it really doesn't matter. Maybe all of Prompto's discomfort belongs on his own shoulders, relates to his own misgivings and nothing else. He punches in the button for Noct's floor. It's close to the top. Horribly close. 

There are a good number of things in this world that turn Prompto all a mess. He's not big on enclosed spaces, on that tight, trapped feeling that comes with walls all around him. He's definitely not big on heights, on sweeping views of a city that keeps shrinking while the lift keeps, well, lifting. He’s not great at new places, particularly ones like this, where he feels so distinctly out-of-place. And he’s really,  _ really  _ bad at feigning confidence when it counts the most. All of this in mind, the elevator ride is a long, heavy drop of his stomach, eyes clenched shut, one fist grasping white-knuckled at the pointless little railing on the wall, the other doing a fine job of crushing long stems of once neatly-wrapped flowers. All the while, his heart pounding through his ribs, a rhythm of ‘mistake, mistake, mistake’ over and over, endless taunting.

He’s fallen into something near full-blown panic when a perfectly calm automated voice announces his arrival, followed by an unseen, gentle mechanical whooshing of doors sliding open. Prompto opens his eyes to the floor, avoids those glass walls that surround him on every other side, and takes absolutely shaking steps out of the elevator. He spares a moment against the nearest wall, fighting off a wicked spell of vertigo, fighting off some of the nerves that really are overwhelming him now. He fishes his phone out of his pocket again, glances at the clock, glances at the message reminding him of Noct’s unit number.

There’s still time, he thinks, to get himself out of this. He can say he fell suddenly and terribly ill; it wouldn’t be too far from the truth, the way his whole body feels so hot-and-cold, all clammy skin and short breath and spinning head. He can say there was an emergency, something that requires him back home right away. He doesn’t have to be specific. It’s only a second date, after all. He takes a glance over at the elevator doors beside him, sliding shut again, and there really is a moment where he nearly slides himself right back through them. Instead he gives his clenched fist, the one not responsible for an at least partially destroyed bouquet, another squeeze and straightens himself away from the wall.

It takes some wandering for Prompto to really get his bearings, to figure out what direction the door numbers run in, and when is the proper time to turn and follow the sequence. He finds it’s a turn to the left, a long walk down a hall, punctuated by a big, heavy fire door, then a walk further still, down to the corner. He checks the number on the little doorknock, checks his phone, checks the number again, and doesn’t do anything at all. There’s a moment of trying to smooth out his hair, trying to fluff up the flowers. Trying to hear the muted conversation on the other side of the door. Trying to work up the nerve to knock.

The instinct to run, to find an excuse and cling to it and get the hell out of there is still a strong one. Prompto definitely wants to give in to it. He thinks about the conversations again, with his dad, with Gladio, with Noct over the days that they were planning this date. He thinks about the uncertainty of going out, the countless hours picking clothes and picking a restaurant, finding flowers, debating whether he should bring them, debating whether Noct really  _ meant  _ it when he agreed to a second date. He thinks about what the worst thing that could possibly happen is, and he tries to decide whether or not that thing is worse than nothing happening at all, because he’s too damn afraid to knock on the damned door.

And then he knocks.

Prompto is pretty damn sure he would be proud of himself, if it weren’t for the fact that he still feels a little bit like he might pass out. It’s all nerves, he reminds himself. It’s all his own dumb mind, getting too worked up, reaching in too many directions all at once. It’s nothing new. He gets through this all the time. He has to remember that, has to keep remembering that, as he waits for the door to open, checks the number yet again against the one in his phone. The wait feels endless, though he’s sure it’s only a few moments, only a breath or two’s length before the sliding of a chain lock, the clicking of a deadbolt, the turning of a knob.

And then he’s standing, looking quite the idiot he’s sure, in front of someone who is very distinctly  _ not  _ Noctis. The panic grips harder, he’s sure he’s got that whole deer in the headlights thing going on. He definitely checked the number, about a hundred times. Did Noct send it wrong? Did Noct send it wrong  _ on purpose _ ? Was this all a grand scheme, to make a moment or two of Prompto’s life horrifyingly uncomfortable. There’s an uncertain ‘uhm’ hanging in his throat, an internal grasping for words to offer up to the man he is facing, all tall and a little stern-faced, handsome in his own right but absolutely not who Prompto is looking for.

Prompto is still slack-jawed, still standing there in the endless silence, when there’s movement from behind, an unfocused blur of black that materializes, in time, as Noct at the guy’s side, all nervous smiles and shoving shoulder. It’s an utter relief to see the familiar face, to see a softening in the unfamiliar one. The silence still sits there, another beat or two, with Prompto feeling the scrutiny of the unknown roommate heavy and piercing. He opens his mouth to speak, but Noctis gets there first.

“You figured it out. This place is a maze, I was afraid I’d hafta go find you,” he’s in a good mood, Prompto decides, from the tone of his voice, “right, this is Ignis. He’s my big scary brother, so don’t try to pull anything, or he’ll be forced to kill you,” Prompto understands, in a distant sort of way, that this is a joke and he even works out a nervous laugh at it. The way that Ignis, aptly described as both big and scary, is looking at him, he’s not so certain it’s far from the truth though.

“Prompto, I take it. Good to finally put a face to all the phone notifications,” that gaze, something closer to a glare, breaks down to a smile and Ignis steps aside, a sort of invitation for Prompto to enter. He hesitates still, trying to find his voice, when Noct gives him a brief tug at the arm to guide him in. There’s another one of those great moments of bewilderment, where Prompto can’t quite make sense of the place. It’s a damn nice apartment, expansive compared to the little flat he occupies above the parlor. Hell, expansive compared to  _ most  _ apartments he’s been in. The front door opens to a proper dining area, a kitchen big enough to actually  _ cook _ . And Prompto swears there’s a living room beyond with a sectional. Yeah, there’s definitely nowhere he can take Noctis that’s going to be at all impressive.

“Nice to meet you,” he offers up to Ignis, all belated, stilted, in the voice of someone who is far too clearly overwhelmed by his surroundings. He spends another moment allowing his eyes to sweep the room, allowing himself to take those deep breaths that really don’t seem to be doing much of anything at all. Allowing himself to steady on his feet and offer the shakiest of smiles up to Noct. It’s awkward, he’s so crushingly fucking  _ aware  _ that it’s awkward. He shifts, foot to foot, balancing weight, balancing options. Why the hell did he want this so badly? Why did he think this was a good idea? Why would anyone ever think this is a good idea? He lifts his hand, the one that has definitely crushed the bouquet, and makes a gesture with the sad flowers toward Noctis.

“Oh, this is for you?” Really does nearly physically cringe. His voice lifts, as if it’s a question, as if he’s never seen the bundle in his fist before and now he’s working out for the first time what exactly he’s meant to do. He tries to think back, tries to picture his last date. Was it quite this difficult? Was he this cripplingly nervous? His mind is a blank to it, to anything that stretches more than a few minutes back. His hand is definitely shaking. He needs to get out of here, he needs to get out of this. Noctis is smiling though, when he takes the flowers, examines them and even chuckles.

“Nobody’s ever brought me flowers for a date before,” the admission is another that lands with Prompto as a clear strike against him. Of course nobody’s ever brought him flowers for a date before. Who  _ does  _ that? Who does that for a second date, one that was still framed a bit as a joke? He opens his mouth to apologize. That feels like the right thing to do, to clear the air, to clear his mind, “thanks. I, uh, don’t really know what to do with them.”

Before Prompto can try to mask it, before he can shift it off as a joke, point out that he can just toss them, it’s all silly anyway, Ignis springs into action. He’s saying that they’ll need to find a vase, but there’s a pitcher that should suffice in the meantime and he’s rambling just a little bit about finding a spot with proper sunlight and a few words about nutrition, all of which are lost on Prompto. Everything is lost on Prompto, other than the intent way Noctis is looking at him, the smile that’s still firmly present on his lips, the way he’s stepping in a little bit closer.

“I’ll leave it to you, then,” he calls back to Ignis, who nods while he’s shuffling about in cabinets, “we’re gonna take off. I’ll text you if I’m gonna be late,” and that’s that, with Noct going for the door again. Prompto doesn’t know what he had expected. Was there meant to be some great touring of an apartment way too big for him to wrap his mind around? Did he think they would linger here, talk a bit, under the careful watch of the brother Prompto very much did not know Noct was in possession of? Whatever was in his mind, he smiles and he murmurs, likely below what any human can hear, a second ‘nice to meet you’ as he’s guided out of the place, everything so very much like a whirlwind.

A beat passes where they stand silent in the hallway, endless few inches between them. Prompto looks Noctis over, maybe for the first proper time since their impromptu date a good week ago. He cleans up well, Prompto thinks, with the smartly pressed dress shirt, dark pattern on darker fabric, pleated pants, shoes that really do look like he took time to  _ shine  _ them. He looks like he stepped out of some damn fashion magazine and it simply isn’t fair. It isn’t fair for him to look so damn good when Prompto knows damn well that he himself looks like a man on the verge of breakdown. Hell, Prompto very well may  _ be  _ a man on the verge of breakdown, the way he’s still sweating, the way his heart is still racing and he can’t quite fix his weight to stop an impulsive shifting from foot to foot. He expects, at any moment, for Noctis to say something, to point out that he looks like hell, maybe to find a polite excuse to get away from him. Noctis doesn’t do that, of course. 

“Thanks. For the flowers, I mean,” there’s a tone to his voice, an uncertainty, an awkwardness that makes Prompto wonder if, just maybe, Noctis shares the nerves that are jolting and twisting in his own stomach. Maybe it’s not easy for him, either. Maybe Noctis is doubting himself all the same, maybe he’s trying to work out every minute detail, looking at Prompto without looking too much, searching for words, fighting against butterflies and buzzing and everything else. If he is, though, he hides it a hell of a lot better. There’s that tone, that tone that Prompto knows damn well he’s just as likely imposing himself as actually hearing. And there are those pauses, those missed beats for words that just go silent. There’s them standing there, neither one immediately moving down the hall, away from the door. But Noct  _ looks  _ calm and composed, he looks cool. He looks too good for Prompto to be messing with. 

Prompto opens his mouth to speak, to brush off the silly gesture as, well, just a silly gesture. Noctis reaches for his hand though, closes it in his own. He flashes a smile that’s absolutely uncertain, searching, seeking permission. Prompto nearly recoils, shocked as he is, taken aback entirely by the gesture. He catches himself though and he gives a squeeze and a smile, equally uncertain, equally questioning.

“Thanks for the date too. I mean, for wanting a real one,” and Noctis laughs, just a light little chuckle, with those words. They’re definitely uneasy and Prompto gets the sudden, distinct impression that Noct hasn’t dealt with the whole being-on-a-date thing in a long time. He knows that’s the case, in fact. They talked about it, here and there, through the constant messages that passed between them over the course of the week. No specifics, no explanation other than a broken-off relationship, hints at getting over a difficult time. But Noct still  _ looks  _ cool and he gives off that vibe, or maybe Prompto just assigns it to him, that he knows exactly what to do and say. 

“Don’t thank me yet. I told you, I’ve been overthinking this like crazy. I have, like, at least three thousand different scenarios in mind where this all goes horribly wrong,” Prompto opts for a little bit of honesty now that they’re moving back toward that stupid damn elevator. It’s not  _ easy _ , but it’s not as hard as he’s been bracing himself for. Noctis has a way about him, something that makes it so simple for Prompto to talk, as long as he can frame his words right. He has that strange quality to him that makes it feel like a week of texting has been a lifetime of friendship, something Prompto had far too easy a time setting aside in all of the panicking moments leading him up to the doorstep. 

“Stop worrying so much,” Noctis still has that hint of laughter in his voice, and while Prompto’s immediate reaction is to snap back about how it’s not that damn easy, thank you very much, he can’t quite bring himself to do it. It’s all good-natured, and it comes with that smile that makes the butterflies feel a little bit less intimidating, a little bit more welcome, “I know, that’s a bullshit thing to say. I’m nervous too. We’ll suffer through that part together,” it’s an admission that, despite any reason, puts Prompto a hell of a lot more at ease. He still doesn’t think Noctis  _ seems  _ nervous, not in the way that he is, but he feels their hands tighten together as they approach the elevator and it helps. Somehow, against any better judgment, against any of Prompto’s general irrationality, it helps.

“Better than suffering alone,” Prompto says, and he even manages a smile that might be halfway convincing. It’s short-lived, though, because there’s still the damn elevator to deal with, big shining doors right before them now. His grip tightens a little bit around Noct’s hand with the press of the button, the distant and distinct sound of the car starting its journey back up to the floor. He really does hate the damn thing. He hates the glass that those doors eventually open to, the view of the city that would certainly be deemed ‘magnificent’ or ‘breathtaking’ or ‘gorgeous’ by any other person. He closes his eyes against it, once he has his free hand turning a death grip on the handrail once again.

“Not a fan of the elevator?” Noctis really does have a way of asking these questions, where Prompto wants to and cannot quite bring himself to snap about them. There’s a bit of sympathy in his voice, though it errs more on the end of amusement. He wants to say something about it not being funny, or shoot off about any  _ actually rational  _ person knowing there’s nothing natural or enjoyable about taking a slow drop with such a scenic view of your potential death.

“Not a fan of heights. Or closed spaces. Or little glass boxes that would definitely turn us into a big bloody pancake if any part of them stopped working right,” there’s an edge to his response, but it’s hard to sound particularly fierce when you’ve got fists squeezed into terrified death grips and eyes closed tight enough that stars are totally floating through the imposed darkness. Nothing intimidating about the way his legs feel just a little prone to giving out when the doors have shut and they start that all-too-quick descent, his stomach dropping about a second or two faster than the elevator, leaving him with a lurching sensation that can only be described as unbearable.

“I mean, we could take the stairs next time, but you’ll probably wanna pack a lunch. Maybe a sleeping bag,” Noct’s intentions are clear enough, the little bit of teasing meant to ease the short journey downward. Prompto thinks he’d even be doing a good job of it, if he could focus on anything but that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach or the thudding rush of blood through his ears, or the way he  _ definitely  _ feels just a little bit like having a good puke by the time they hit that lobby floor and he’s blindly dragging them both into the blessedly open lobby.

“ _ Next time  _ we can just meet at my place. It has this really great feature I like to call ‘not being a skyscraper’,” the retort probably loses a bit of its punch though, when it’s being spouted off after they’ve put a good few strides between themselves and the elevator. Noct still laughs though, that gentle chuckle that puts a much more pleasant feeling in Prompto’s chest and down to his stomach, tugs a little bit at the edges of his lips. He can live with the teasing, in exchange for that. And he can live with the elevator, now that the ride is done with, and they’re stepping out into the pleasantly cool start of an evening. 

“I’ll keep it in mind. Now,” Noct’s still holding his hand, still squeezing his hand. He adjusts his fingers and he twines them with Prompto’s and something about the adjusted gesture makes his cheeks go horribly warm and his heart go horribly fluttery. He swallows against all that and gives a smile that is nothing short of shy, “where are you taking me, anyway?”

“To my car,” Prompto chirps the words, and he’s finally managing here to get his cheerful demeanor in place. Away from the elevator, away from the scary big brother and the scary big apartment, it’s a little bit easier to step into that mindset. It’s all put-on, all masking the internal screaming and stammering that really has only subsided to dull roar, but it’s a lot easier to put on the closer they get to comfortable territory, “and then to dinner, like I told you. And then to,” Prompto pauses, lets his face go cloudy for a moment, “well, I don’t really know what comes after that, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

“I do love a man with about a quarter of a plan,” Noctis offers up a smile with these words that is all wide and shining and enough to make Prompto just a  _ little _ bit dizzy. He shakes his head in response to it and he does his absolute best to put on an offended expression.

“Kinda harsh. I’d say that’s  _ at least  _ thirty percent of a plan,” he knocks their shoulders together while they walk and Noctis returns the favor immediately, a back-and forth formed here that carries them across the surface lot, to Prompto’s car, “you should be grateful, it leaves you with an out. When I say some really stupid thing over dinner or spill my drink on myself or laugh way too loud, you don’t hafta worry about breaking plans,” he stops, a few feet from the rear of his car, and there’s a brief flash of shame here. Prompto  _ likes  _ his car. It’s old and it’s got more miles on it than he likes to think about and the rear may or may not be more sticker than fiberglass at this point, but it’s a  _ good  _ car. It gets him around and it almost always starts on the first try. And it is absolutely, woefully out of place parked in Noct’s lot. 

There’s a whole lot of reasoning that goes on in Prompto’s head at any given moment. Reasoning, maybe, isn’t the right word for it, he thinks. When he tries to take that mental step back and look at his thoughts, there’s not a lot of reason involved. Whatever it is though, it’s always churning in there, and especially now. He likes Noct. That part is easy. He liked Noct without knowing that he lives in a huge fancy high rise in a part of town Prompto would never venture into. He liked Noct without seeing an apartment that’s totally as big as a house. He liked Noct without worrying that he would be put off by a car that has no business in his lot. Those things are easy.

The hard thing is reminding him that Noct can, in fact, not be put off by these opposing situations either. There might not be any flash of judgment in his eyes over the ride, or consideration to the fact that Prompto’s entire wardrobe probably cost less than any single article Noct is wearing. It may very well not bother him at all that they’re going to dinner across town, in a place that Prompto is suddenly thinking will be about as unimpressive as any place  _ can  _ be. He might have gotten a glimpse, an idea of what he was in for, with the tattoo parlor and the sandwich shop, with the idle banter about what Prompto’s day-to-day consists of all texted out between their meetings. That’s all very logical, and very likely the case, in fact. Just logical enough that Prompto absolutely cannot bring himself to believe a single word of it.

“Kinda sounds like you’re leaving yourself an out, there,” Noctis says, and it brings a flush of shame rising immediately to Prompto’s face, “enough self-sabotage, alright? We’re gonna have a good time, even if you make a mess and say loud, stupid things. And if we’re both totally miserable at the end, I won’t even make you ride the elevator back up to my apartment. Deal?” Prompto doesn’t say anything for a second or two. He doesn’t get it, he has to admit. He doesn’t get how Noct can claim to be nervous, then say things like that, be so laid back and easygoing and generally unfazed by the little bits of crazy he’s got leaking at the edges. He smiles though and he nods, finally parting their hands so he can fish keys from his pocket.

“I think I can manage that,” Prompto is, by some miracle, even able to put a little bit of conviction into the words. He’s happy all the same, to be climbing into the car, where a spot where there are ample excuses to keep his eyes pointedly away from Noctis. In reality, of course, he isn’t quite so sure. He’s pretty well convinced, in fact, that if there’s any way for him to screw this up, he’s going to do it. It’s all taking a hell of a lot of focus already, for him to wait for Noctis to get strapped in and comfortable, to adjust the radio and the windows, to get the car running and the nav set on his phone and any number of simple tasks that should be second nature by this point.

It’s that same problem he’s always had, the same one his father has pointed out to him for  _ years  _ at this point. Prompto is a professional when it comes to getting stuck in his head. It can be a boon at times. He can be focused and determined, if a little single-minded. He can drive himself toward perfection and, in his business, that’s not a bad thing. But it’s just as much his downfall, just as much, as Noct so expertly pointed out, a fair bit of self-sabotage. Right now, it’s him struggling to focus on any one thing at all, when there seem to be so many swords to fall upon. It’s internal frustration, manifesting in a sharp little rev of his engine before he whips the car back.

Then, it’s noticing the way Noct’s hand flies to the grab handle above his window. It’s just a small catch, out of the corner of his eye. More than that, it’s a tension that runs down his jaw, shows tight at his throat, something Prompto can’t ignore when he’s turned back in the car, so damn close to him, to check his path. He tries to play it off, tries to joke about it himself.

“You don’t gotta panic so much. I know what I’m doing,” a little bit of nervous laughter, a slight bit of tension easing in his mind for just a moment, while he’s taking them out of the parking lot. He’s getting his bearings again, now that they’re moving, now that instincts are kicking in. He has a handle on the situation, he reminds himself. They’ve got a deal made to have a good time, and damn it, he’s going to, “haven’t killed anyone yet, at least.”

And there it is.

Prompto can’t quite pinpoint what’s gone wrong here, but he can see Noctis stiffen, just from the corner of his eye. He’s shifting in the seat, shifting  _ away  _ from Prompto. It’s something subtle, something that might be easy to ignore. Might be easy to ignore, that is, if you’re not a man absolutely terrified of saying the wrong thing on a first proper date with someone you really like. Easy to ignore if you aren’t prone to over analyzing every detail, gauging every reaction. It’s body language, clear enough even in his peripheral. It’s a pin-drop silence that falls between them and a tension thick enough to come near to choking. It’s Noct, gripping just a little bit harder at that handle, tilting himself so his forehead touches the window. Prompto thinks his eyes might be closed. Prompto knows he’s managed, somehow, to sink it all. And he can’t even work out what that initial, critical blow was.

In all, he thinks, off to a fan-fucking-tastic start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No extra tags on this one! A quick apology for such a late update, though, I really did mean to keep a weekly schedule but I had a lot of trouble with this chapter. Starting a new job, I'm not sure how my update schedule will change but I promise I'll try to do better to keep it regular!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No extra warnings this time. I apologize that this probably feels a little bit filler-y. I've had an incredibly difficult week and really just needed to remind myself how much I love these boys. That said, next chapter I will absolutely be bringing the pain.

There are two distinct possibilities in Noctis’s mind. He’s reeling here, trying to work through them without giving the distinct impression of someone silently working through something quite so potentially devastating. He’s clutching that damn grab bar for dear life. He feels distinctly cold, and he’s well aware that the color has likely drained entirely from his face. He can’t look over at Prompto, that much is certain. Maybe it would give him an answer, if he could just glance at him, gauge his expression, read into what the hell he’s thinking.

The first possibility is the one that Noctis wants so desperately to cling to. It’s the one he wants to be the truth. He wants Prompto’s words to be an accident, a mistake born of entirely understandable ignorance. He wants Prompto to have been trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to ease some of Noct’s fears with that bit of levity. He would, after all, have no reason to know the truth. He would have no reason whatsoever to play such a cruel card against him knowingly at that. They’re on a date, after all. They’re trying to have a good time, trying to get to know each other. There have been conversations through the week that started at all that, and they went well. There have been butterflies when Noctis thinks about him. Those are all, he hopes, checks in this particular column.

The other option is a hell of a lot less innocent or acceptable. It’s something that makes all of those hours preparing for the date, stressing over it, weaving in and out of panic null and void. This option has to do with Prompto finding out more than he’s implied. It has to do with talking to Gladio or maybe even his father- a guy who seems aware enough of Noctis, even if that familiarity didn’t spark in his own mind. It goes into a bit of digging, an exploration of a past that Noctis has very specifically not discussed with Prompto just yet. It will come soon, it will have to, but he’s made a stark point of keeping it all to himself.

There’s a second facet however, to that latter possibility, and it’s one that’s a hell of a lot more nefarious. That Prompto would have learned about Noct’s past and then immediately made a joke of it, made a point to reduce Noct to guilt-ridden misery. The mere idea of it sends cold prickles at the back of Noct’s neck and a harsh, empty feeling in the pit of his belly. Prompto wouldn’t do that, would he?  _ Nobody  _ would do that. He would have never wound up in this situation, clinging to handles and trying to remember all of those grounding techniques all so he can act like a normal, functional human being on a date with someone he really thinks he likes. He couldn’t have been so wrong about Prompto. It’s impossible. The only thing more impossible, he has to think, is Noctis actually emerging from his guilt and his regret to admit that he’s jumping to conclusions lacking any actual reason behind them. 

Noctis knows that he needs to say  _ something _ , but as for what he should say? There’s always the option of actually being honest, of pointing out exactly why he’s gone so tense, so silent, why there’s nothing between them now but tension and the low drone of the radio. He doesn’t want to be honest, though. If Prompto doesn’t know the truth, if he doesn’t have to know just yet, isn’t that for the best? He can drum up some good will, make it harder to hate him in the end. It’s not so much that he wants to be dishonest, not even that he wants to hide this all from Prompto. He just wants a little time. He  _ needs  _ a little time, a little safety net. A little bit of anything that will keep Prompto from turning tail when everything goes sticky.

Sitting here in silence, Noctis realizes, is not the way to drum up that good will. It’s not the way to begin a second date that is, in all honesty, a lot closer to a first  _ proper _ one than anything else. When Noctis finally can bring himself to turn his attention, to look back at Prompto, the poor guy really does look like he’s horribly close to having some sort of breakdown, internally or otherwise. He’s all bright cheeks and hands that grip the wheel too hard and attention set so specifically to the road that Noct isn’t sure whether he knows he’s being watched or not. There’s a pang here, a little bit of guilt, because he  _ doesn’t  _ think that the second option was the correct one. He doesn’t think Prompto is trying anything other than to have a good time with him, and here he is, overreacting to silly words, closing himself off before there’s ever a chance to open up. He draws in a breath and there’s a bit of an internal scramble, an attempt to come up with any sort of words to explain it all away.

“I’m totally starving,” Noctis settles on words that have no real importance at all. They’re words he can say though, words that are totally true at that. His stomach is doing flips and eating away at itself, none too quietly. Ignis had been hassling him all morning, reminding him that he doesn’t want to be going out on a first date dinner and scarfing down everything in sight. Noct forced himself to appreciate the advice, but he couldn’t force himself to do more than nibble half-heartedly at the food his brother served him. It had smelled amazing, of course. Ignis is a damn genius when it comes to cooking, and it’s his damn job  _ to  _ be, after all. Nerves, however, had turned his whole body into a bit of a hostile environment when it comes to things like eating or resting, or generally doing anything that wasn’t pacing and panicking. 

Prompto doesn’t relax in response to the words, which is no real surprise, but he does glance over and Noct is able to catch his eyes and offer up a smile that is tiny and apologetic. Prompto attempts to return it, the effort is clear, even if the end result is somewhat questionable. Can Noctis really blame him though? Prompto seems even more nervous than he’s feeling, somehow, and there was that awkward moment that almost certainly was born simply from Noct’s own hang-ups. It’s still a relief, though, to see his grip on the wheel loosen just a hair, see him shift in the seat to a position that borders on comfort.

“Yeah, me too. I haven’t really eaten all day,” Prompto even manages to speak, and his voice is only a little bit shaky, slightly stilted. Noctis is happy about that. He’s happy that he’s speaking at all, that things haven’t managed to, for lack of better term, crash and burn quite so quickly. And maybe he’s even a little bit happy that they’re both so clearly on edge, that all of his worrying, all of his panic over how this night would go, isn’t one-sided. It’s not fair to feel that way, Noct’s aware of that point somewhere in the back of his mind, and maybe his own nervous energy and Prompto’s are feeding off of each other. But there’s a strange sort of camaraderie here, with both of them tense and uncomfortable, standing on a shared ledge of very possible imminent breakdown. 

Silence sets between them again, though this time Noctis likes to think it’s not  _ quite  _ so uncomfortable. His mind is so prone to going back over the past, to examining what happened to him before Prompto, those long months of isolation and their point of origin. He’s absolutely drawn to wondering, what could have gone differently, what he could have changed. Where he would have been if he had managed to do so. It’s a difficult set of ideas, because all awkwardness aside, Noctis likes this. He likes being with Prompto, in the aging car that has a back seat all stuffed with piles of junk and a radio that only seems to play on one side. He likes the idea of going to dinner with him, getting to know him, spending more time together than this one evening a week after they’d first met. He likes staying up a little bit too late, phone lighting his face where he’s tucked beneath covers, waiting for one more response. He likes  _ Prompto _ and he could have never gotten to that point if anything in his damn life had gone as planned.

The drive stretches on, though Noctis is vaguely aware that it can’t possibly be  _ that  _ long. Insomnia isn’t a small city, but it has a whole lot of city jammed into not a whole lot of space. The roads twist and turn and there’s always a fair bit of back tracking down one-way streets over and over to get where you intend, but all considered, he had no difficulty hopping the train and making it to Prompto’s shop within the space of an hour. Which means the actual drive proper is maybe a quarter of that, barring any particularly brutal traffic. He’s surprised, really, when Prompto speaks up again.

“Hey, so, I don’t want you to be all let down by where we’re going,” he has that edge in his voice, that uncertainty that is becoming well-known to Noct. It makes him frown this time though, feel less kinship and more concern, “you’re probably used to really fancy stuff, huh? I don’t really know anywhere like that,” the whole concept makes Noctis shift to better watch Prompto. His grip even loosens from the grab handle at the roof, though he immediately grips instead at one on the door.

“Why would you think that?” Noctis is compelled to ask because, quite honestly, he can’t wrap his mind around it. Their first ‘date’ was to a little hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop. And it was a damn good date, with damn good food. Exactly the sort of thing that Noctis can get behind, where they don’t really mess around with anything green or leafy or remotely healthy. The idea of some fancy, expensive place with too many forks and a special guy who’s job is just to tell you what cheese to order? Noct’s pretty sure he’s had a whole lifetime’s worth of suffering through  _ that  _ particular hell.

Prompto doesn’t respond right away and Noct has the distinct impression that he’s uncomfortable again. It’s difficult here, probably a lot more difficult than it needs to be, everything else being equal. He could have taken another route with his words, he realizes. He could have brushed it all aside, pointed out that as far as he’s concerned, the junkier the fare the better. Then again, would that have come off wrong, too? He’s frowning, more to himself than anything, but Prompto glances at him and he must notice because he actually  _ winces _ , as if Noctis didn’t feel bad enough already.

“I mean, you’re like, rich, right?” Prompto laughs at his own words and shakes his head, “a totally different world than some guy doing tattoos, anyway. I’m pretty sure the fake-fancy chain place isn’t exactly the height of class or whatever,” and while his laughter is a little bit nervous, it manages to make Noctis feel just a bit better. Hell, he laughs too. 

“I dunno about that. Never said I was classy. I’d rather go somewhere you want to, anyway. Did Gladio not mention that I’m a total shut-in at this point?” When it comes down to it, little slivers of truth like that one are a lot easier than Noctis would have imagined. It’s not hard to talk to Prompto, not as a rule. Sure, he’s struggling here, but Noctis is starting to come to the conclusion that it’s the fact they haven’t seen each other for a week, that his mind has built up this enormous obligation for the night to be perfect, only to be shot down immediately. He was the one, after all, who told Prompto it would be a good time no matter what, wasn’t he? So why the hell can’t he apply that same thought to himself? 

“Gladio didn’t mention  _ anything _ , dude. And I totally tried. He basically just laughed in my face. In my phone. In my phone-face,” there is an absolutely astounding sense of relief here, with Prompto very much sounding suddenly like himself again. Or, at the very least, sounding like the self Noctis has in mind. He has to remind himself, here and there, that they don’t  _ really  _ know each other. It’s hard for him to keep track of the fact that they only met a week ago, only spoke through texts, only have those very simple impressions to work on. He finds himself laughing a little bit as Prompto goes animated though, as he seems to burst into life.

“That sounds like Gladio. You could’ve just asked  _ me  _ if there was something you were wondering, y’know,” Noctis really is smiling with these words, light and genuine and feeling more at ease than he has since, well, their last date ended. Maybe taking his own advice  _ is  _ a decent idea. Maybe he can have a good time, if he’ll just let himself. And, yeah, maybe learning that Gladio didn’t betray any enormously important points about Noctis and his past or his admittedly difficult personality is a relief all on its own. Noct wants to think, however, that it’s just the act of actually  _ talking _ , remembering why he’s here, that’s making all the difference.

“Well, yeah, but that’d be totally weird.”

“And secretly asking my friends isn’t?”

“Look, I never said I was any good at this whole ‘going on dates with cute boys I’m supposed to be poking with needles’ thing,” there’s a certain way that Prompto’s voice rises, just a little bit, when he’s becoming flustered. Noctis thinks it’s about the most endearing damn thing he’s ever witnessed and it’s growing harder and harder with each louder, higher-pitched word not to burst into a little fit of laughter.

“You think I’m cute!” Noctis can’t quite help pressing in just a bit of a tease there, letting his voice go into a bit of a teasing melody. It’s absolutely ridiculous, entirely childish, and it has them both laughing a little bit, even if Prompto is still sputtering a little bit. Really, the brief compliment makes Noct’s heart flutter a little bit, might even bring some of the color back to his face. It’s definitely easier to make fun of Prompto for it than to admit any of  _ that _ , though.

“Obviously I think you’re cute. I wouldn’t have forced you to go on another date with me if I didn’t,” there’s a bit of a pout forming at Prompto’s lips, something that’s definitely all show, part of the game being played between them now. That part is endearing too. Every damn thing about Prompto is turning out to be that way. Noctis thinks, just briefly, that he’s gotten himself in way over his damn head here.

“I wouldn’t really call it  _ forcing.  _ I wanted to come. ‘Cause, y’know, you’re pretty cute yourself,” Noctis feels himself go a little bit warm with the admission, enough so in fact that he moves to fiddle with the window. Then realizes very quickly that he’s only fiddling with the locks and finds the crank somewhere below. Perhaps not his finest moment, but Prompto is laughing about it and that’s enough to keep him smiling.

“At least we got that much settled,” there really is an air of relief to Prompto’s tone and Noctis wonders, just for a moment, if he should go on. Should he be extolling more of the virtues he’s come to the conclusion match up with Prompto, from the admittedly limited contact they’ve been sharing? There’s a bit of an instinct to do just that, if he’s being honest. Because Prompto  _ is  _ pretty damn cute, and he’s pretty funny too. He’s pretty easy to talk to, when Noctis can allow himself to admit anyone ever  _ would  _ be easy to talk to. And he’s nice to be around, even when things got off to such a shaky start, even when Noctis found himself spending a fair few minutes trapped in his own mind and his own memories.

“Right, well, we’re almost there,” Prompto’s voice is picking up nerves again, but at least he’s making attempts at a smile. Noctis watches intently, watches the way his fingers shift between drumming and clutching at the steering wheel, then back again. Watches how his free leg bounces in place while they’re slowing, making those final turns and that attempt to locate parking. At this rate, Noctis can relax a little bit. There’s no great fear that everything will, quite literally, turn immediately sideways from some freak incident beyond their control. There’s not much fear, either, that he’ll get trapped back in his memories of just such an incident, or that either of them will manage- for the moment, at least- to say something particularly damning.

And, to be entirely honest, he can already pick up the scents of the restaurant as they’re searching for a spot. Even if it’s not ‘classy’, it’s exactly what Noctis can go for. A sort of pseudo-upscale environment, probably designed for families and young couples short on cash and eager to indulge. He’s pretty sure he recognizes the name as a chain, maybe from a mailer or a commercial, and really, he’s wondering yet again why Prompto thought it was essential to worry quite so much. Noctis has a feeling, the way Prompto presented at his door, that this particular question will come to his mind more than on just this occasion.

There’s a moment when the car is parked, where they both remain seated. A look passes between them, something of hesitation and excitement, all smiles and nerves, butterflies practically taking flight between them. Noctis thinks, or wants to think in any case, that Prompto isn’t feeling so different than he is right now. He hasn’t been on a proper date, not anything beyond that little impromptu lunch a week before, in longer than he likes to remember. Hell, when he considers it now, it occurs to him that his damn  _ engagement  _ might have been the last time. There’s a brief tightening of his stomach there, when he considers how he’ll admit that bit to Prompto. He recalls advice from Ignis though, admits that he’s getting ahead of himself, and gives a little nod of reassurance before he steps from the car.

It really is a nice evening. The last bits of sunlight are still clinging to the edges of the city, streetlights just beginning to snap to life. It’s cool, but it’s comfortable. Just a light breeze, enough to make his long sleeves more blessing than curse for the first time in some months. The whole night gives the distinct impression of fall looming close, and really, Noctis is happy enough for that. He’s happy to be beyond his birthday, beyond the sweating summer months, beyond the moments that made him consider that damn tattoo that got him into this utterly perfect mess. The cold, the actual and proper icy nights, will set in soon. It will all be painful, achy chills in no time, and Noctis wishing for the summer again right along with it. Just now, though, the night is perfect. He’s smiling when he comes back to Prompto’s side, weaves their arms and works their hands together.

Noctis allows himself to believe he’s pretty damn smooth with this move, the way Prompto’s cheeks light up, clear even in the quickly draining light. He likes the way Prompto looks when he’s blushing like that, the deep pink that overcomes him, interrupted in spots by that little dusting of freckles. Noct has found himself, whether he’ll admit it or not, imagining getting his lips on those speckled cheeks, chasing little lines and connecting the dots. Yeah, definitely not admitting that just now, when they’re only walking in for their meal. 

“Have I mentioned I’m totally starving? ‘Cause I’m  _ totally  _ starving,” Noctis presses their shoulders together a little where they stand, waiting for the light to turn on the crosswalk. There’s a bit of subdued neon lighting marking out their destination and, again, that scent. All full of garlic and bread and, well, Noct’s never really had a nose for all the rest. Ignis would probably be able to write a damn review on the aroma alone. All Noct really knows is that it smells good and it has his stomach making agreeable sounds, ones quite thankfully drowned by traffic, passersby, and Prompto’s little burst of laughter.

“Guess it’s a good thing for the date then, huh? I’m gonna warn you though, if you decide to eat your weight in lobster, I’m gonna hafta ask you to buy the ice cream after,” Prompto is laughing even through that joke, and Noctis finds himself chuckling a little bit too as the light flashes to walk and they make their way across the street, still hand-in-hand. Nothing that either of them have to say is  _ terribly  _ funny, but Noct’s mood is lifted considerably just by being around Prompto. It’s absolutely startling, if he’s being honest. He tries to remember his first date with Luna, so many years ago. They were just kids, and the whole relationship was something that was more expected than it was decided. Did he ever feel that distinct fluttering between his ribs for her? Was everything she said terribly amusing? He decides very sharply not to think about that.

“So you’re taking me for ice cream, too? Pretty much a dream date right here,” Noctis is very close to an outright grin- a true rarity for him- when they make it to the door and Prompto holds it open for him. He thinks that, all of the nerves aside, they really will have a good time here. The place  _ isn’t  _ terribly fancy, which is exactly what Noctis would have hoped for if the choice was his own. And the prospect of sharing some dessert afterward too is an absolutely appealing one. Hell, he’s even impressed, spirits a little bit lifted, when Prompto tells the front counter that he’s made a reservation. Noct is pretty sure that, a place like this, it’s entirely unnecessary, but there’s something in the gesture, the planning ahead that touches him.

Prompto doesn’t respond directly to the comment about dream dates, but Noctis thinks that he seems to be just a little bit more confident in his walk, in the grip around Noct’s hand when they’re making their way to the table. A small exchange of laughter comes when Prompto makes a point of pulling out Noct’s chair for him, not nearly far enough, but with Noctis making a point of trying to wedge himself in all the same. There’s something about being with Prompto, Noct decides, that makes him feel a hell of a lot younger. Or, maybe, it makes him feel like a twenty year old guy should be feeling in the first place. 

“You gonna get some fancy wine? I mean, probably none of it’s  _ actually  _ fancy, but I can’t pronounce any of the names, so close enough,” Prompto grins over his menu at Noctis and it really does absolutely melt his heart. Enough so that he almost slips, almost agrees to it. Ignis’s voice, all full of concern and lectures about ‘making wise decisions’ and ‘not taking undue risks’ sounds in the back of his head though and he simply shakes a slow negative. In all honesty, Noct is perfectly happy simply enjoying Prompto’s company here, without any thought for what buzz will pair well.

“I don’t really drink any more,” Noctis opts for a bit of honesty there, and Prompto’s face goes serious in response just for a moment. Perhaps serious isn’t exactly what it does, but there’s definitely a hint of concern behind those big eyes, maybe just a hint of curiosity, “I get sick as a dog. Wine doesn’t taste good even when it  _ is  _ fancy anyway,” he opts for the joke, yet again, and it seems to do the trick, Prompto smiling before he buries his head in the menu again.

“Totally. I mean, who wants to guzzle down a bunch of rotten grapes, anyway. I’m  _ so  _ into the fancy lemonade they’ve got, though. They put strawberries in it, it’s basically drinking candy. Oh, and they have this deep fried appetizer trio…” Noctis finds himself smiling again, maybe in spite of himself. Prompto, it turns out, has a tendency to ramble on when he’s found a subject good for doing so. Apparently, this particular restaurant is one of them, a point that makes Noctis feel just a little bit guilty that Prompto had been so full of hesitation to bring him here. It seems, the place is one of Prompto’s favorites, and he has comments on just about every menu item. It’s a good thing, too, because he can warn Noctis as to what would show up at their table all covered in greens or not entirely dead.

He decides, in the end, on a nice sounding bit of steak that Prompto assures him is  _ totally amazing _ and one of those lemonades that was so greatly raved about. The drink, at the very least, comes out quickly and lives mostly to its hype. It’s almost sickly sweet, but the way that Prompto bubbles up even further at that, the great relish he takes in the first long sip, is enough to give it an absolutely favorable flavor to Noct’s tongue.

“So, you really like this place. I take it you’re here a lot?” Noctis has to remember, after giving their orders and sitting a few moments of comfortable silence with their drinks, that the whole point of having a date is to talk. He wants to talk, too, which is a bit of a new situation on him. More accurately, it’s a feeling almost like waking up. More pleasant than waking up, but certainly with a similar sense of stepping from a haze. There is a certain sense, something that’s been clouding Noct’s mind for a long time, something like he’s walking through an endless fog. There was a lot of talk about tunnels and the lights at the end of them, but he wasn’t really buying any of that. Now? Maybe there’s something to it all. 

“Huh? Oh, not really. I mean, it’s not really the kinda place you go alone, and it’s not really as fun dragging my dad along or something,” Prompto laughs at the apparent image he’s drummed up of that and Noctis smiles too. Truth be told, Noctis is still somewhat terrified of Prompto’s dad, the one who clearly seems to know him. More likely, the one who knew his dad, and that’s a can of worms that Noctis really wishes he’d never have to open again. Unhealthy as it may be, there’s a hell of a lot that Noct has learned to bottle up, learned not to think too hard about. His father and their relationship have been chief among those things. His father’s death, well, that’s still a process. 

“So this is where you take all the cute boys?” Noctis returns to his teasing, something infinitely easier than thinking about Prompto’s father. Though, now that push has come to shove, Noct isn’t entirely sure he wants to think about Prompto taking other people here. It’s not a good thing to be feeling, he thinks, on a second date. Particularly not when their first date was little more than sharing lunch. Still, he  _ likes  _ Prompto. He likes him a lot more than he’s liked anyone in a long time. He might like him more than he’s liked anyone  _ ever _ . It’s really damn tricky to work out how you’re supposed to feel about any of this, and Noct’s never been great at feelings in the first place.

“Oh, totally. I mean, you’re pretty lucky. I usually have a line a mile long, just  _ praying _ I’ll bring them here,” Prompto’s voice is absolutely dripping with sarcasm, but he’s still smiling and Noctis manages to laugh it off. It’s a relief, as much as anything, to be reassured that there’s  _ some  _ sense of this being a special occasion. They’re probably both a little bit overdressed for this place, all pressed slacks and dress shirts, Prompto with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open a button or two beyond what is probably acceptable for anything properly formal. 

“I’m gonna need some names. Gotta figure out who I’ll be fighting off,” Noctis manages what he thinks is a fair bit of charm in his words and his smile. Prompto responds positively enough, all small huffs of laughter and warmed cheeks. Noctis hasn’t been out with anyone, hasn’t so much as considered flirting with anyone, in what feels like a whole damn lifetime. He’s not sure he was ever any good at it before. Truth be told, he never  _ had  _ to be any good at it before. Maybe the only reason it’s working now is because Prompto hasn’t been doing a lot of dating, either. Maybe it’s just that Prompto’s decided he  _ likes  _ Noct, based on what little information he has to work with. Whatever it is, Noctis is happy to be winning those smiles and those pink cheeks. 

“Pretty sure you’re safe on that front,” Prompto replies after another long draw from his drink, something to cool his face and, to Noct’s way of thinking, gather his thoughts. It’s another one of those stupid, endearing things that Noctis really can’t get enough of. Prompto keeps surprising him with more of them, as it happens. When their meals arrive, Noctis notices that he has a very specific way of poking at his food. It’s...peculiar, if Noct is being honest. A lot more playing than eating, for someone who was earlier claiming to be just as hungry as he was. He says there’s a perfect trick, however, to getting exactly the perfect mouthful of this exact pasta dish. He’s happy to show, and then to pass a bite over to Noctis as proof. He has to say, Prompto  _ might  _ be on to something there. 

The meal itself is, as Prompto promised, pretty damn delicious. Noctis really is impressed by it all, for a place that Prompto was so concerned about lacking in class, it sure did deliver in being far too delicious to be fair. He’s finished every last scrap, in fact, while Prompto has plenty set away in a nice little take-home container and they’re left waiting on the check. Through all of the frantic scarfing- Noctis really  _ was  _ pretty damn hungry, after all- they might have missed out on more of that essential first date conversation. Prompto talked a little bit about his work, something that Noctis is finding endlessly fascinating, a world pretty starkly in contrast to his own. And they were able to gush back and forth in turn about a game they were both eagerly waiting to release. Noct isn’t sure that any of the conversation had proper substance, but he enjoyed it all the same, enjoyed watching Prompto light up whenever he stumbled onto a favored topic especially. 

“So, about that ice cream,” Noctis smiles with the little nudge he gives, one foot into Prompto’s beneath the table. He’s absolutely thrilled, not that he’s about to admit to any of that, to feel Prompto press right back into him, a little higher at his ankle, in return. It’s hard not to break into a proper grin at it, or worse, into laughter, but he manages, if only by the skin of his teeth.

“Dude, really? Where do you pack all that food away?” Prompto laughs though and he adds on almost immediately, “I’ve already got it all planned out, so don’t worry. I wouldn’t  _ dare  _ tease you with dessert and not deliver,” he’s shoving his card back into his wallet and, with these words, stands. Noctis swears he catches a hint of a wink, something that really does make him go all red and flustered himself, but Prompto is laughing again and holding a hand out to Noctis and Noct isn’t about to decline. 

As it turns out, Prompto  _ does  _ have everything planned to this end. He walks them, hand-in-hand again, down a block or two, turns off onto a street Noctis might not have noticed if he wasn’t being dragged toward it, and ends them off at a little stand that would be just as easy to miss. It’s a tiny bit of a building, with an unassuming front and a couple benches facing the street. And it really is, Noctis realizes, a perfect night for all of this. A little sign he notices when they make their orders warns customers that the next weekend will be their final of the season. By the looks of things, they probably could have closed already without a person noticing. The night isn’t cold by any normal standards, but set against the summer heat of the past few weeks, it stands out as bordering on chilly. School, too, has likely started again at this point, though Noctis hasn’t paid much attention to that in what really does feel like a lifetime. It all aligns perfectly, though, to leave the two of them sat alone on one of those benches, licking at their cones and knocking their feet together from time to time.

“This place is pretty great. I don’t know anywhere like this,” Noctis feels almost obligated to point the fact out. When it comes down to it, he really  _ has  _ made himself into something of a shut-in. Leaving the apartment isn’t as impossible now as it was right after the worst of his downward spiral, the hardest of his rock bottom, but the recovery has been slow and finding sweet little places to pass a bit of time? Well, not exactly at the height of Noct’s priorities as of late. If anything, he feels just a hint of shame, being all too aware that when it’s his turn to make the date, he won’t know what the hell to do. There’s a little rush with that thought too, though, the thought that he absolutely  _ does  _ want to make another date.

“Dude, you’re way too easy to impress. There’s loads of other places I can take you, y’know. I mean, not right now ‘cause it’s getting late, but normally…” Prompto lets his voice trail off, and there’s just a little tinge of sadness there. Noctis feels it too. He wonders if Prompto had other plans for after this, ones where they went out to hit bars or clubs, the sort of things that Noctis absolutely would not be able to tolerate now- the sorts of things he could barely tolerate  _ before  _ the accident. 

“So, you already have a plan for the next date. Make it earlier next time, so I can actually spend some time with you,” Noctis offers him a grin that he thinks is one of his best ones and he presses their shoulders together again. It’s not so much of an impactful nudge this time, though, as it is a desire to be close, to be touching. Their hands weave together again, a bit of instinct, as if they both thought of it at once. Noct has already nearly demolished his ice cream, just about wordlessly at that. He feels like he’s been wasting a lot of opportunities to speak, and like he might be wasting one just now, even with the little flirt, with the question.

“So come back to my place and hang out,” Prompto blurts the words quickly, and Noctis can’t ignore the fact that there’s tension in the hand around his. That frantic, anxious energy that Prompto was absolutely radiating at the start of their date has returned, full-force. And Noctis is left with a decision here. He doesn’t think it’s a hard one, really. He’s enjoyed the time out with Prompto, and he wants to keep enjoying time out with Prompto. He’s pretty sure they’re outside of the window of axe murderer potential and, well, he did tell Ignis he would just throw him a text if he was going to be late. Which means somewhere, in the back of his mind, Noctis was imagining- maybe even hoping- they  _ would  _ be late, “I mean, if you want. We could, like, watch a movie or play something or-”

“-Prompto. Calm down,” Noct makes sure his voice is even, maybe just bordering on playful. He finishes off the last little crumbles of cone, wipes his hands ever-so-elegantly on a pant leg, and turns in the bench to face Prompto. There’s an awkward moment where he’s swallowing down remnants, making a face absurd enough to draw a nervous laugh from Prompto, which Noct decides immediately makes it worthwhile, “that sounds really good. Finish up and we’ll go back to yours. Just don’t have a heart attack on me or something, okay?”

Prompto’s expression lightens immediately, brightens in fact to a full smile and he nods, making a little bit quicker work of his dessert at this point. There’s a voice in the back of Noct’s head asking what the hell he’s just gotten himself into. He decides very specifically to ignore it. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few extra content/trigger warnings at the end notes, so please be sure to jump there if you have any concerns!
> 
> I apologize for an irregular update schedule but, quite honestly, it's the best I can do right now mentally and life-event-wise speaking. D: Just know I haven't given up on this!

Prompto doesn’t really understand how things progressed so smoothly. He doesn’t entirely get what clicked so easily into place to bring the two of them back to his admittedly unimpressive apartment, to get them on his tiny couch- more of a loveseat, really- glued to stacks of video games. He definitely hadn’t really planned on Noctis being terribly interested in passing the single controller back and forth between levels and lives, nor on the way they have both taken to grand attempts at sabotaging each other on the opposite’s given turns. If he’s being honest with himself, of course, he hadn’t expected even dinner to pass without some horrible, date-ending, life-ruining incident. Worst case scenarios, played out so relentlessly in his mind through the nights leading up to this one, seem to have been summarily avoided. It feels unreal enough that there are discreet little shifts of his finger, snapping a rubber band at his wrist and waiting for a tiny shock of pain to convince Prompto this isn’t all a dream.

Noctis, for his part, doesn’t seem to have noticed any of Prompto’s uncertainty. More likely, he hasn’t addressed it, a point for which Prompto himself is eternally grateful. This is a good night. This night keeps getting more good. This is the kind of night where Prompto can almost feel at ease. Then, of course, there’s the problem that feeling at ease opens up so many more opportunities for disaster and the inclination toward panic and overthinking rises up in his chest. Somehow, he seems to get an elbow to the arm or a shoulder shoved into his own, a little bit of cheerful grounding whenever his mind starts drifting in such a way. So, maybe Noctis does notice. Or maybe Prompto only assigns meaning to gestures that are all natural and coincidentally well-placed. It’s pretty hard to say. He’s trying pretty hard, for once in his life, not to overthink it.

It takes ages- far longer than Prompto could have guessed, judging by the time on his phone- for them to exhaust the stack of games and find themselves sat together on that loveseat, shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the splash of apps on the system’s home screen. There’s a cold bit of sinking in Prompto’s stomach. Noct will be wanting to go. It’s late. It must be later than expected, because Noct’s phone has started to go off and he’s wearing a wince while he taps out his response to a text, mumbling something about Ignis and worrying too much. Prompto thinks he should work out where he dumped his keys, work out how not to look too disappointed that the date is winding quickly to a close. It’s been a good night. It’s been the best night Prompto’s had in a long time, in fact, even despite all of his panic and uncertainty and overthinking.

“You wanna call it a night, then?” Prompto doesn’t even like that he’s asking the question. There’s a moment of silence where Noctis looks at him, eyebrows raised. He’s set his phone back on the coffee table and he seems to consider the question for a bit longer than Prompto would have anticipated. There’s a strange and now familiar fluttering between his ribs with the look that Noctis gives him, gives the time read on the TV, then gives him again. He follows with a shrug and a little smile playing at his lips; just a hint of one, something subtle that Prompto has learned to watch for.

“Trying to get rid of me?” Prompto’s back straightens with the words and his eyes go a little bit wide, dart to Noctis with a sense of utter panic. He is not, of course, trying anything of the sort. He feels, not for the first time this night, like an idiot for saying anything at all. He’s tripping over his words immediately, making an attempt to smooth the situation, making an attempt to keep- yet again- from inadvertently destroying an evening that seems to be trying  _ very  _ hard to be perfect.

“What? No! I just… I mean…” his tongue feels thick and heavy, every muscle in his body tight and aching all at once. He’s tensing up, cramping, going overly warm around the backs of his ears and the swell of his cheeks. And, he realizes, Noctis is smiling, shaking his head, even fighting off a little hint of a chuckle.

“Just giving you a hard time. Relax,” Noctis says and he pauses, gains his composure at an almost alarming speed. He’s leaned in just a little bit, tilted his head slightly, fixed eyes with Prompto. It’s making the world spin very fast and go entirely still all at once and, quite honestly, Prompto doesn’t know if he wants the sensation to stop immediately or linger forever, “Hey. It’s alright. You’re still pretty nervous, huh?” A sense of gentleness rolls through his lips with those words and, somehow, they manage to put Prompto at least a step closer to ease. They make him feel, at any rate, like there’s oxygen in the air he’s gulping.

“I’m always pretty nervous,” he blurts the words and, hell, that makes him nervous, too. They’ve had- are still having- a good time. Why Prompto feels the need, on some sort of misguided instinct at that, to blurt out some admission of his personal flaws, he’ll never be able to say. He wants to shift the blame on that front. He wants to say that it’s in the way Noct’s speaking, or the way he’s looking at him, so inviting and encouraging, maybe even understanding. Sympathetic, in any case, if the empathy only exists in Prompto’s mind. Still, it’s something. It’s not Noctis drawing away or asking to end the date at any point. It’s him leaning in close and it’s the feeling of a hand, gentle and warm, clasping around his own.

“I get that,” Noctis says, and he isn’t looking at Prompto straight on any more, but he’s looking at their hands together and giving a little squeeze. He’s rolling his lower lip in, licking at it, playing at skin with his teeth, letting his eyes narrow on something. Then he’s shifting, he’s unclasping their hands and he’s sliding his so it spreads briefly at the small of Prompto’s back, then it’s through the little gap between skin and sofa and it’s resting at his waist, tugging him into a single-armed embrace. Prompto feels the air leave the room again, feels his throat go all tight. He feels himself go tense and he absolutely feels Noct hesitate, begin to pull his hand back before he’s returning the gesture.

Prompto has always erred more on the side of physical affection, so he can’t place entirely why this little bit is suddenly so nerve-racking. It’s not as if he’s never been on a date before, even if it has been a long time. It’s  _ definitely  _ not as if he’s never been on a date that progresses far more quickly than this, either. It’s different, though, Prompto thinks. It’s more affection, more caring than it is pure physicality. It’s warm and comfortable, grounding and relaxing. Prompto dips his head, rests his cheek at Noct’s shoulder, settles himself properly into that position. He expects butterflies again, but his body is calming instead. There’s a sense there, something that borders on the line of belonging. Something that catches Prompto by surprise, just as much as the gesture did, just as much as Noct’s voice does when he speaks again.

“I’m not great at talking. You probably already figured that out,” Noctis says, and there’s a warm breath of laughter that follows, something that compels Prompto to curl closer, to relax a little further still. He feels the arm at his waist tighten, feels the stroke of a thumb along the curve up toward his ribs, muted by the stiff dress shirt, reassuring all the same, “I’m pretty alright at listening, though. If you think that might help.”

Prompto has to consider the offer. It’s not exactly a common one, and certainly not something he would expect from a first date. Not that it  _ should  _ be entirely unusual for some potential romantic interest- and Prompto’s really starting to think the ‘potential’ descriptor is long outdated- to show concern, to want to hear what Prompto has to say. It’s just that, well, they usually don’t. Prompto has experienced a fair string of relationships, for lack of better term, that didn’t involve a whole lot of talking at all. They definitely didn’t involve anyone noticing his anxiety or trying to find some way to ease it. It’s a little bit terrifying. It makes Prompto smile.

“I dunno. I don’t wanna mess things up, I guess. I...kinda really like you, y’know?” Prompto feels himself go warm and he shifts almost violently in Noct’s grasp. He thinks it’s a good idea, suddenly, to be as far away as he possibly can. The hand on his waist doesn’t loosen, but it doesn’t tighten either, and Noctis gives him a look that lies somewhere between relief and appraisal. Prompto, quite simply, doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to make of that. He doesn’t pull away though, even if every damn instinct in his body is screaming to; even if his heart feels ready to burst from his chest and every muscle in his body is finding fit to tense up again at once.

“I kinda really like you too,” Noctis says, and he just barely misses a beat there. His lips are turning to a strange sort of smile, one that Prompto maybe knows too well, because he thinks he’s mirroring it. It’s one of those expressions that brings a warm face and a flipping stomach. The sort of smile where you’re trying  _ really  _ hard not to smile at all, and you’re almost succeeding too, if it weren’t for that little bit of twitching at the corners of your mouth or the way your eyes are definitely getting little lines around the edges, like you might burst into laughter at any second. Prompto isn’t sure if he wants to burst into laughter or if he wants to crawl out of his skin. Prompto isn’t sure the last time anyone made him feel something similar.

“Yeah, but, there’s like a billion things wrong with me. I’m totally gonna scare you off. You only  _ think  _ you like me, ‘cause just a little bit of my weirdness has managed to sneak out. I’m, like, totally off-the-rails nutso and-” Prompto stops short, because his words are being drowned and his lips have nowhere to go, except to press right back against Noct’s. He thinks it’s a little bit cheesy, like something out of a movie, but he  _ likes  _ that. It feels properly romantic, even if it’s just a chaste little kiss, lips pressed together all closed and unmoving. He’s left blinking, feeling the stark absence when Noctis pulls back.

“You’re not gonna scare me off. I’ve got all kinds of shitty baggage too. I’m kinda willing to bet it’s even worse than yours,” Prompto is ready to argue Noct’s words, but Noctis has one of those smiles that just shuts him down, makes him feel a lot less like arguing anything. Still, there’s a spark of curiosity there, maybe an ornery streak that has Prompto questioning what kind of shitty baggage is worse than his own absolute basket case antics, “you’re totally panicking,” Noctis doesn’t need to point that part out, but he does. And he puts just a little bit of space between them. Just enough that he can reach and pop open the top couple buttons on Prompto’s shirt. He’s going to squeak out a bit of concern, but there’s an almost instantaneous sense of relief, a feeling that he can breathe a little bit better without that light constriction at his throat.

“Thanks,” he manages a murmured little bit of appreciation, head ducking slightly. Noctis smiles and his hand goes to Prompto’s waist again, just a little bit of a squeeze, something that’s reassuring once more. It makes Prompto’s chest feel warm and swollen and strange, all in very good ways. He thinks this might be a sign of trouble, at very least a sign that he ‘really kinda likes’ Noctis far too much. He’s absolutely trying to ignore that fact.

“You’re really warm. You should change into something comfortable. It’ll make you feel better,” Noctis makes the suggestion and it makes Prompto blink a couple times, his face becoming a bit blank. He, well, has a point. Prompto can only imagine he looks as uncomfortable in the borderline formal clothing as he feels. It doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to work that part out. Prompto can’t help but think, though, that it’s not a normal suggestion to make. Not without experience. Not without some sort of  _ knowledge  _ that there are small ways to stave off the worst. Little changes that really  _ will  _ help him feel better.

“That obvious, huh?” Prompto makes a point of turning the words to a bit of kidding and it’s enough to draw a new, wider smile from Noct, which is a win all its own.

“I’m not any better. You know how much convincing it took from Ignis to get me into this tie?” Noctis groans, all exaggerated and overly offended, and that makes Prompto feel a little bit better too. He laughs and, quick and shy and totally uncertain, he swoops in to press a small kiss to Noct’s cheek before he stands. It makes them both go a little flush but it makes them both smile too, eyes lingering in a lock.

“I can get you something to wear too, if you want.” Prompto isn’t entirely sure why he makes the offer. There’s a strange, sinking feeling, that one he’s become so damn accustomed to. As strange as suggesting he go get changed in attempt to stem an incoming torrent of panic may be, Prompto’s pretty sure it’s still a notch stranger still to offer your clothes to a date who is in your apartment for the first time and making all those attempts to quiet your neuroses. Be that as it may, Noctis only hesitates for a moment. He shifts and looks at Prompto, quiet, thoughtful. There’s a flash of something there that Prompto thinks he’s got pinned properly as uncertainty, but it passes quickly and a nod follows.

“Yeah. Best to get the hell out of all this fancy stuff. We’re going somewhere casual next time.” There’s something about the confidence in Noct’s voice there that sparks Prompto back to life, back to smiling when he promises he’ll find him something nice and comfortable. He’s giddy, there’s no denying, when he’s traipsing through his room, stripping a bit too eagerly from the collared shirt and slacks, kicking it all aside and finding sleep pants and a tee he can step into instead. He really  _ does  _ feel better, too, to be in the loungewear rather than all those brand new threads, all stiff and ill-fitting and maybe just a  _ little  _ spilled upon over the course of their meal.

Finding something for Noct turns out to be a little bit more of an ordeal. They’re more or less the same size from Prompto’s approximation, and it’s not as if he has any shortage of junky, sitting-around clothes to spare, but there’s something that feels so essential, so important to this selection. Realistically, he can accept that it’s very likely only him over thinking everything yet again. In practice, there’s a great deal of importance on making sure there aren’t any stains on the pants he pulls out, isn’t some dumb logo or out-of-fashion band advertised on the shirt. As far as Prompto is concerned, and he’s vaguely aware of how ridiculous this sentiment is, it’s a make-or-break sort of situation.

The thought is only doubly ridiculous when he returns to plop the clothes into Noct’s lap and he doesn’t take a second look at shirt or pants before he stands and begins to strip. Prompto opens his mouth, just a little startled, ready to point out that there is, in fact, a bathroom or a bedroom Noct can use for that, but Noctis laughs at his expression and turns very pointedly so that only his back faces while he unbuttons his shirt.

“You’re cute when you’re all flustered, y’know,” Noctis teases him, turns his head to glance over his shoulder once the dress shirt is tossed aside. Prompto is staring again, and he’s trying very hard not to make it clear, because the point of his vision is fixed. There’s a heavy scar along Noct’s back, down his spine, something that doesn’t look particularly recent, but does look brutal and deep and honestly somewhat scary, “that bad, huh?”

“No!” Prompto hears the word jump from his mouth before he has time to temper it, to make it sound less overwhelmed, less like a dog who’s just had his tail stepped on. Noctis shakes his head though and Prompto hears a little chuckle while he’s pulling his shirt on, making quick work of swapping out pants. Prompto, at very least, has enough shame to stare at the carpet while he waits for the heat to leave his cheeks, “messing with me again?”

“A little. Sorry. Kinda hard to resist,” Noctis does sound apologetic, too, something that catches Prompto just a little bit off guard. He feels like he should be the one apologizing, if anyone, after all. He’s the guy who can’t take a joke, who can’t even  _ discern  _ one, much less have a laugh at himself over it. He’s the one who’s had few enough friends to learn from in his life that he’s pretty sure he can count their whole ranks on one hand, even if he’s including Noctis. There’s nothing that Noct should be apologizing for, but there he is, giving a bashful smile when he sits again and gets his arm wrapped back around Prompto’s waist.

“Is that what you wanted me to cover? The scar, I mean. With the tattoo…” Prompto realizes each word is a little bit dumber than the last, but Noctis still gives him a look that is blank, then becomes startled, then changes to something else altogether. Maybe it was the wrong thing to ask. Actually, he decides, it was definitely the wrong thing to ask. Noctis had seemed uncertain in the first place about the tattoo, hadn’t he? There wasn’t any actual idea in mind, and he had been just as happy to flee the shop with Prompto as start discussing it, working out drawings, even letting Prompto see it.

Prompto, of course, let his curiosity get the better of him. And maybe it’s deeper than that, the fact that this relationship- a tricky word, to be sure- has already evolved beyond Noctis wanting Prompto to put some designs on his skin, cover up some angry old marks. Is he giving the wrong idea, by bringing it up at all? He’s all too hyper-aware of everything, of the way Noct is pulling his arm back from the embrace and the way that expression has changed to one of concern, hesitation, maybe even shame. He’s opening his mouth to speak again but Noctis notices this and he shakes his head.

“No. Something else. It’s, uh…” he pauses, and there’s so much delay in his words that Prompto thinks the right thing to do is to point out that Noctis doesn’t have to say them at all. He wants to scream, in fact, to just forget that he brought it up, forget he asked anything in the first place. He wants to switch on a game or a movie, something to distract them both. His panic, mounting again so easily, must be palpable. He can practically feel it echoing right back from Noctis, too, “it’s kinda complicated? No, that’s not it, really,” Noctis is sitting forward now, hunched over himself just a bit. His arms are crossed at his midsection and his eyes are focused, though on what Prompto couldn’t say.

“I’m sorry. You don’t hafta explain, I was just-”

“-no. It’s okay. I want to, but…” Noctis’s voice trails and his eyes meet Prompto’s. This time he can read the expression perfectly and without any question. Noct is  _ afraid _ . A pang hits Prompto’s chest, an internal wash of empathy that he can only imagine plays across his face. He knows that panic. He was just fighting that panic. And, well, maybe now he knows why Noct knew exactly what to say and suggest, didn’t get flighty or bothered himself. He reaches out this time and he puts a hand on Noct’s arm, an attempt to comfort. It seems to backfire, just for a moment, because he can feel the sudden tension, the beginning of a harsh jerk away that Noctis catches and halts, “you know how you said you’re afraid of scaring me off? I really  _ do  _ understand that.”

There’s a rough quality to Noctis’s voice that makes Prompto, yet again, regret the fact that he said anything at all, that he inadvertently steered the conversation in a difficult direction. He has little to offer here, other than a sympathetic look, other than that brief touch. He wants to tell him, again, that he doesn’t have to say anything, but those words don’t feel like the right ones. Prompto has no idea what the right words are, though, because his mind is reeling at what it is Noctis is trying to say. His mind is running through any number of possibilities, a billion scenarios that would leave him marked in a way that, now that they’ve met each other, now that they’ve started to get close, Noctis wouldn’t be comfortable sharing. Prompto can relate, to some extent. There are too many parts of him where the pieces of his brain don’t quite slot together right. There are too many points where he says or does the wrong thing, the very clearly wrong thing, and he has no good explanation or excuse for it. His heart outright aches for Noct, looking so much smaller suddenly, looking so worried. Noctis takes a deep breath though and he straightens himself and he turns out the arm Prompto is grasping at, quick and a little clumsy in the way he lets it sit over his lap.

The scar in question, the one that Prompto can only assume was intended to be covered, stretches thick and heavy along Noct’s arm. It’s more recent, more obvious and angry than the one on his back, shining and a little pink, still raised and obvious. The line runs perfectly straight, from the base of Noct’s palm and nearly to his elbow. It makes the breath in Prompto’s throat feel hot and thick, makes his heart give an angry sort of flip and his face go cool and colorless, all set and stony.

Prompto knows he needs to say something, but what that something is, he can’t say. His heart is beating uncomfortably fast and his mouth is feeling dry. There’s really not much question, he thinks, in how someone gets a scar like that. He could be wrong, he could absolutely be mistaken, but he considers Noct’s words before and he tries to consider what the right move here is. The fact of the matter, though, is that he doesn’t even know where to begin. He doesn’t know why the hell he’s having such a strong reaction to just the sight. He’s seen probably a hundred different scars before. He’s probably seen variations of this one, flittering in and out of his little room in the studio, never so much as thinking twice. So why does it sit so differently now? He glances at Noctis, but Noctis isn’t looking at him any more. He’s looking very specifically and directly away, in fact, and he’s drawing his arm back.

The very least he can say is that he knows he doesn’t want Noctis to retreat into himself now. And even if Prompto doesn’t have the exact experience to know how this mark feels, he thinks that it’s only by luck that’s the case. So he draws up his feet, so his knees are close to his chest and he cradles Noct’s arm there, watching his face as he runs his fingers feather-light up the knotted line.

“You can say it. Whatever it is you’re thinking. I can take it.” Noctis sounds so utterly defeated with the words, it’s an absolute punch to Prompto’s gut. He winces and he tries to catch Noct’s glance, fails, then looks back to the old wound set before him. He still can’t quite get a hold of the emotion that’s swelling the more he looks, the more he thinks about it. HIs mind is filling in blanks, all desperate and terrifying, cold and bloody, and they make him want to shiver, want to shake off the feeling. It’s a little bit like watching some horror movie. It’s a bad reaction, a bad response, to be so shaken. He doesn’t know  _ why  _ he’s so damn shaken. And he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to say.

“I’m glad you didn’t die.” Prompto is acutely aware that it’s a stupid response, but he had to reach, struggle for any at all. It’s awkward, with him left tracing fingers again down the scar, then letting his hand rest near Noct’s, where he can feel the steady, rapid thrum of his pulse beneath the battered skin. It’s reassuring, in a way. There’s a strange sensation here, something like a near-miss. Like ending a staircase and expecting one last step. And, however stupid, however awkward or dumb the words are, he means them.

“I think I am too.” Noctis sounds a little bit uncertain with this admission, but he finally looks back to Prompto and he gives a smile that is undeniably shy, muted, but that strikes him as ultimately hopeful. The words seem heavy, which only makes sense, really. The entire subject is heavy. Prompto doesn’t ask what happened, but he doesn’t need to. If there was any question, and there wasn’t really, not with the lines he was able to read between for once in his damn life, it doesn’t exactly linger. There’s honesty in Noct’s words, and it’s something that Prompto finds he appreciates more than he can say.

He finds himself thinking about, well, himself. He considers his own life, the precarious edge he feels like it’s sitting on from time to time. He doesn’t have any scars to show, doesn’t have any old attempts on it that he can speak of, that he can draw to understand with, but he has something. He has the buzz of fear that keeps him from sleeping, sometimes for nights and nights on end. He has the depression that strikes, when he hasn’t seen the right side of a bed for that long. He has that low-grade humming in the back of his head, that thought that, really, it would all be a lot easier if he pulled himself from the equation. From every equation. Maybe that’s what worries him, just as much as the little voice whispering within, pointing out that he almost lost something, someone, without ever getting the chance to know it.

“You aren’t sure?” Again, Prompto’s words come before his mind catches up and he winces, “Sorry, that’s a shitty thing to ask. I… you know how sometimes you don’t wanna say the wrong thing, then you end up saying the  _ most  _ wrong thing, like, in the history of wrong things you can say? ‘Cause that’s me. Like, all the time. Seriously.” He says this all very quickly, words clipped and edged with panic. Noctis laughs though, just a little, and he moves again. He twists his arm so he can hold Prompto’s hand and he shakes his head.

“Pretty sure there’s not a right thing to say,” he points out. It doesn’t exactly make Prompto feel any better, but he continues, “I don’t mind you asking, though. I guess I’m not totally sure. Things have been getting a little better, though. I…” Noctis pauses, he seems to be struggling with what to say. Or maybe he’s only wondering how much he should say at all. Prompto knows that feeling all too well. He thinks he should reassure him, should remind him that there’s no pressure here, that he shouldn’t force himself. Again, Noctis goes on without giving him the opportunity, “I didn’t die, but a lot of stuff changed all at once. Things are way different than they were before. I still lost a lot, but some people are still around, and that helps-”

“-but some people aren’t?” Prompto doesn’t apologize this time. He grips Noct’s hand tight and his face changes. There’s a flash, all heat and indignation and proper, barely-restrained  _ anger _  rising in his chest. He’s picturing it, whether he wants to or not. He’s picturing someone so vulnerable, someone who nearly  _ died _ , being abandoned at a time like that. He feels an actual prickling at the back of his neck, a rushing, tingling sensation against his skull. He wants to know who it was, who would be so cruel, so thoughtless. Who the hell would leave, after such a time? “That’s bullshit, Noct. I don’t care what you did or what happened, nobody has any right-”

“-Hey,” Noctis’s voice is soft, calm, but it’s raised just a little bit and it’s enough to stop Prompto on the tirade. There’s a new emotion in his eyes, one that Prompto looks away from. One that he knows too damn well from his own bouts of loneliness, isolation, hints of loss, “it’s more complicated than that. Look, I don’t really wanna get into it,” Prompto is ready to apologize, the heat of anger turning quickly to one of shame, but he doesn’t say anything right away, “I mean, I do. But not right now. It’s just… a lot, y’know? It’s not easy to talk about. This is the most I’ve said about any of it to someone who isn’t paid to listen,” he laughs at that and Prompto, strangely, feels himself smile at the bit of dark humor, “you don’t need to worry about that stuff, though. I don’t wanna scare you away, either, remember?”

“You won’t.” Prompto doesn’t have so much as a hint of regret this time, in speaking before he has a chance to check himself. Maybe it’s a poor thought, one unworthy and unfair, but the idea of walking away from Noct now? It was unpleasant before he saw the mark or heard the words. It’s unthinkable now, “We don’t hafta talk about it, though. Not if you don’t wanna. If you do, we can, but we don’t have to.” For once, Prompto thinks he might have gotten the words right. Noctis is relaxing a little bit again, shifting close, moving to get an arm around his waist once more, even if it means untangling their hands.

“I do. I mean, I will. Eventually. It’s gonna take some time. But it’s good, knowing I can. Thanks, Prom,” he smiles and he leans closer still, so that this time Noctis is the one resting a cheek against his shoulder. The little nickname, that abbreviation, it’s sweet and it’s somehow affectionate. It’s a good feeling, one that drags some of that ungodly weight from Prompto’s chest. He tilts his head right back, and they stay like that, silent and warm and close for what feels like both a very long time and no time at all. It’s one of those comfortable silences that they found here and there over their dinners together. It’s natural and it makes Prompto think, with just a little start, that he wants to share a hell of a lot more moments like this.

“Why don’t we put on a movie?” Noctis finally speaks, his voice low, just a little but above a whisper. Prompto isn’t quite startled by it, but he glances over. It’s getting properly late now, but Prompto isn’t exactly tired and he absolutely isn’t jumping to get Noct back home. So he reaches for the coffee table, disrupting them just a moment so he can grab the controller and start flipping through what’s on offer to stream.

“What are you in the mood for?” Prompto offers the control over to Noct, but he’s only met with a shrug, a smile, a pointed little glance at him.

“I dunno. Something dumb that you won’t mind missing when I go to kiss you.” The words make Prompto stop, make his hands freeze up for a moment and his heart skip a beat. They make him look over, with big eyes and one of those smiles he’s trying very desperately not to smile. He hits the button without checking what, exactly, it is he’s putting on. His eyes don’t leave Noct’s when he tosses the controller aside.

“You’re not very subtle, are you?” Prompto laughs, but he quiets because Noctis leans forward and he cups a hand to his cheek, tilts Prompto’s head just a little bit.

“Do you want me to be?” There’s definitely a tease in his voice now, one that even Prompto doesn’t manage to miss. He smiles at it, not trying at all to hold the expression back now. If there are nerves rising again, they’re a new sort, an exciting and anticipatory flavor rather than one that’s edging him toward panic. They’re the kind of nerves that he  _ likes.  _ The kind that make him feel almost disgustingly alive, happy, warm.

“Not really. You say something like that and I kinda just want you to be kissing me.”

“I think I can arrange that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for: anxiety, depression, suicide (ideation, scars, past attempt, discussion)


End file.
